


Dances With Dragon Age

by Faeruy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Comedic Violence, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Gladiators, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faeruy/pseuds/Faeruy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Place: Vigil's Keep.  Time: Who knows?  Plot: The Warden Commander - Faleni Mahariel decides to throw a party at Vigil's Keep for all of her best friends, both past and present.  The Champion of Kirkwall - Diana Hawke and her buddies decide to crash said party.  The end result?  A Battle Royale with Cheese between all of the various companions of Origins, Awakenings, and Dragon Age II.  Hilarity, Insanity, and much consumption of alcohol ensues.  It's seven rounds of fighting, with several interludes in order to give the fighters a break.  Who wins? Who loses? Who cares?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Round 1: The Healers

In the ballroom of Vigil's Keep, three mages stand in a triangle, as far away from each other as possible. At one point, an old woman in the robes of a senior enchanter of the Circle. She looks calm, but a tad annoyed. She is not thrilled to be participating in this farce. At the second point, a tall human man with blond hair and rough stubble. He wears a Tevinter-styled black coat – the shoulders are heavily feathered. He's grinning, but there is a darkness behind his eyes. The last point of the triangle is held by a girl, young and dark-haired. She wears blue robes of the Kirkwall Circle. She's chewing on her lip, her brown eyes are bright with excitement. In the middle of the ballroom, a golem stands, flanked by two mabari hounds. All three stand as still as statues; if one didn't know better, they'd think all were made of stone.

The ballroom itself is huge and opulent. It's long and wide, with a high ceiling. At one end, a grand staircase leads up to a balcony level that overlooks the rest of the ballroom. The rest of the party perch on hard stools and peer over the railing to the contestants below. Also on the balcony, opposite the stairs, two women survey the scene from somewhat more comfortable seating. One is a slight Dalish elf, the other a tall and curvaceous human. They have in common the qualities of a rogue; they sit lightly on their chairs, alert, ready to fight or flee at the slightest provocation. There is a slight glow about them; the result of a spell meant to enhance their voices, to ensure that their words would carry above the chaos about to erupt. Not that anybody wanted to listen to what they had to say, but the women insisted anyway.

"So here we are, Round One – The Mages That Keep Us Alive. The participants in this round are Wynne, Anders, and Bethany. Would you like to do the honors, Hawke?" The elf asked her human companion.

"Don't mind if I do. Shale, on your mark, let the battle commence!" Shale raised her arm and the dogs retired to the base of the stairs. The three mages bowed to each other briefly. Shale's arm came down and all three went into a defensive posture, staves at the ready. Their glances darted from opponent to opponent, and Shale took the momentary confusion to retreat towards the dogs.

The girl is the first to move. She lifts her staff in the air and a pulse is felt throughout the room. The other two mages are thrown backwards, the male hitting the wall with a loud thud. Up on the balcony, a very drunk dwarf falls off of his stool.

"Hawke, I'm not surprised Bethany made the first move. She is after all the youngest of the fighters today, and not even primarily a healer if I remember correctly."

"That's true Mahariel. But frankly, she fits better in this fight than in the other mage battle. Besides, it's not like she's an inexperienced healer. She's been patching me and Carver up since we were little – dad got very tired of doing it by himself."

"No wonder. I bet just keeping you from dying is a full-time job."

"Hah! Wait... is?" Hawke glared at the elf, but Mahariel's attention was back on the fight. Bethany was preparing another spell but Anders had stood up, a soft light dissipating around him and was also starting to wave his staff. Wynne was still in a ball on the ground. Bethany and Anders ignored her for the moment. They aimed at each other and fired bolts of pure spirit energy. A blinding white light filled the room as the bolts met in the middle. The peanut gallery shut their eyes in response, but Anders and Bethany weren't so lucky. When the light dimmed to an acceptable level, both mages were stumbling, blinking and clutching themselves in pain. Bethany waved frantically, creating another burst of light with her healing spell.

"You know Mahariel, I just realized – this fight could go on for a while."

"Because their offensive spells are weak?"

"That, and they have the ability to you know, heal themselves."

"That too..."

By now Wynne had stood up and was glowing with a soft white-pink light. Anders' eyes were starting to glow too; bright blue and harsh.

"Uh-oh."

"What?"

"My sister's in trouble."

"Why?"

"She's not an abomination."

"CIRCLE MAGES, YOU WILL BE FREE!" shouted Anders in a voice much deeper than normal.

"Is that Justice?" Mahariel asked with a start.

"Well, he's Vengeance now, but yeah."

"So Anders is an abomination? So there's one, but Wynne isn't an abomination... she's just..."

"Dead and possessed by a spirit?"

"When you put it like that..."

Elsewhere in the balcony, the pirate wench rummaged around in her sack and took out three pairs of smoked eyeglasses, two of which she handed to the elves on either side of her – the light emanating from the mages below was getting ridiculous. Anders was whipping off spell after spell, but his aim had gone completely. Most of the spells hit the walls of the ballroom, leaving behind scorch marks. A few found the spectators in the balcony, most of whom ducked, though the half-naked witch took out her own staff to redirect the errant spell back at it's caster. It hit Anders on the shoulder and an overpowering aroma of burning feathers filled the room.

"MORRIGAN!" Mahariel shouted before succumbing to a bout of coughing. The witch sat back down, looking completely unrepentant. The Dalish woman turned back to Hawke. "I always *cough* wanted to get rid of *cough* Ander's clothes. *Cough* But not like *hack* this!" 

"Oh so you never slept with him? *Cough* Didn't you want to?"

"Well I thought about it, but I was too busy you know, being a Commander of the Grey Wardens and all."

"Your loss. He's quite good." Hawke shrugged. Finally one of Anders' spells found its mark, hitting Bethany with a crack. The spell lifted her slightly above the ground and held her immobilized. Every so often her body twitched in pain. Hawke gripped Mahariel's arm, her finger's digging painfully into flesh. Mahariel shot her a look, but didn't comment or remove the offending hand. Anders raised his staff...

...And was promptly hit in the back of the head. Anders fell to his knees and at the same moment the spell holding Bethany disintegrated, dropping her into a crumpled heap. Wynne stood behind Anders holding her staff like a bat. The Warden's original companions cheered loudly, and a few of Hawke's companions joined them; noticeably two men and the male elf. The residents of Vigil's Keep looked a bit downcast.

Bethany stirred and lifted her head. She and Wynne exchanged a look from across the room. Unsteadily Bethany rose, leaning heavily on her staff. Wynne waited patiently while the younger mage recovered her poise. Then with a nod, Bethany aimed her staff at the still-kneeling Anders. Wynne lowered her staff, and the two women fired off simultaneous bolts of magic.

Whatever they did caused a gigantic boom. Anders flew straight up, hitting the very center of the ceiling with a gigantic crash. He opened his mouth, but instead of a scream, there was a stream of blue light. The light came down and streaked past the two dumbfounded mages, out the door and out of the ballroom. The women started to follow, but then looked up as they realized Anders was now on his way back down. Before they could do anything however, the mabari were there, a litter harnessed between them. Anders landed with a soft thud on the litter, and the two dogs bore him out.

"How did they get a stretcher? They have no hands." The small dark-haired Dalish whispered to the red-headed guard next to her.

"Shale probably hooked them up." The guard replied, although a little uneasily. She was pretty sure the golem hadn't moved since the beginning of the match, and for that matter, she didn't remember seeing the dogs leave either.

"Oh, right, of course. Silly me."

"Well Hawke," Mahariel said when she could find her vocal cords again. "It looks like we have our first companion down."

"Looks that way, elf. such a shame too. You would think with all the time he spent with both of us, he would last a little longer."

"I know I thought his experience would show more. Maybe he just didn't get enough practice with you Hawke."

"Well, he clearly didn't get any with you..."

"What do you think that blue streak was?" Mahariel said quickly.

"I think Anders got the spirit of Vengeance kicked out of him." The balcony groaned. 

" Ladies and gents, Justice has left the building! That was an amazing show of teamwork by Wynne and Bethany."

"That it was Mahariel, that it was."

Back on the floor, Wynne and Bethany were circling each other warily. Bethany had apparently cast another healing spell; she was somewhat steadier on her feet. Fatigue, however, was written all over her face. Her early onslaught used a lot of energy and she lacked Wynne's experience and spirit-assisted gifts. Wynne, on the other hand, looked as calm and fresh as she had at the beginning of the match.

Up in the balcony the spectators were shifting in their seats. Occasionally there was a flash of gold followed by a clinking sound as gold changed hands, most of it ending up in the palms of the beardless dwarf with the crossbow. The bowman bearing Vigil's Keep arms looked especially grim as he handed over a heavy purse.

The circling continued. Bethany was looking everywhere around the room, searching for something. Wynne's eyes never left her opponent. The younger mage suddenly twirled and a fireball left her staff. A shimmer came up in front of Wynne and the fireball bounced off of it, going into a pillar. The two mages continued their dance around the perimeter.

"You know, I'm really glad I had this room spell-proofed... Voldrik said it wasn't necessary 'The stone will hold!' he told me. I told him, you can never tell when a mage will go crazy, and I'm glad I did. The scorch marks are going to be a bitch to get out as it is."

"You thought a mage would go nuts in your ballroom?"

"Of course. Does Kirkwall not have a problem with insane mages turning into abominations and the like?"

"Welll....." A flash of light brought their attention back to the action. Bethany walked over the spot where Wynne had been at the beginning of the match and was now unable to move an inch.

"Ooh, a glyph! Wynne's so smart. What do you think she's going to do next Hawke?"

"I don't know." Hawke said through gritted teeth. Everyone on the balcony leaned forward. Wynne pulled her staff arm back then, with unexpected force, she lunged. A huge fist hit Bethany square in the chest and she fell backwards like a tree in the forest. A quiet fell over the room, and for a moment, nobody moved. Then Shale stepped forward and picked up the unconscious mage.

"It breathes." The golem intoned in a gravelly voice. Wynne sniffed.

"Of course she does." Shale left the ballroom, still carrying Bethany. Wynne started to follow, but then stopped and looked up expectantly at the balcony. First Mahariel stood, followed by Hawke. The others of the party followed soon afterwards. The qunari started a slow clap, picked up by everyone until the room reverberated with the percussive applause. The blond man wearing a crown whooped and hollered. Wynne gave a significant nod.

"Thank you. Now I must see to the other two." With that, she exited through the same doors as Shale. The clapping and cheering continued until the doors shut behind her, to be replaced by the gabbling of excited companions. More coin changed hands. Three people, the king, the older man in heavy armor, and the ginger guard threaded their way through the crowds and headed down the stairs.

"Well that was certainly quite a match. And we have our first champion!"

"I know Mahariel, and we've still got five more. And the final one. Although remember, I'm the Champion."

"Of course you are. Hopefully our healers get enough of a breather. We're going to need them."

"Truer words were never spoken."

"Alright everyone, onto the next round!"


	2. Prologue: Welcome To Vigil's Keep

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Dwarves, shemlen and elves! I'm your host; Mahariel, the Dalish Grey Warden..."

"And I'm her co-host; Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. Welcome one and all to the Dances With Dragon Age, brought to you by the Blight, the Circle, the Chantry, and an old woman who talks to much."

"Urgh... really? Why'd you have to bring her into this? Anyway, here's the story – my group of adventurers decided to have a party at Vigil's Keep, when who should crash it but..."

"Us. Though don't blame me; it was Isabela's fault. She heard Anders got an invite, and that there would be free booze. And probably some stuff to loot. And just maybe somebody to sleep with. She got her crew to throw us on her ship and shanghai'd us over here."

"Right, so not long after MY party was so rudely interrupted, somebody decided they didn't like the look of somebody else..."

"Isabela tried to get Morrigan into bed..."

"... and then a brawl broke out. Because I didn't want to have to rebuild the Keep AGAIN, we decided it would be a good idea to organize an official Battle Royale with Cheese. In the ballroom. With all the breakables removed."

"Right, so here's the deal. There will be six rounds of fighting with the companions divided according to their specialty."

"You know, MY companions are way more flexible in their choice of weapons and spells, not stuck with only a few special areas."

"Shut it Mahariel. Divided according to whatever specialty they had when they first met us, at any rate. The round will start, the companions will fight. The winner of each round will move on to the final melee. No killing, this is all for fun. Other than that, anything goes."

"Which is why Shale will be acting as a referee, along with Ser Fluffy and Barkspawn."

"Thank the Maker. The last thing we need is your pet golem forgetting the no-killing rule."

"You call Shale my pet, and it may be you who ends up dead, Hawke."

"I'd like to see it try..."

"Anyway the divisions are as follows; Round One: Healer Mages – Wynne, Anders, Bethany."

"Round Two: Shield Warriors – Alistair, Loghain, Aveline"

"Round Three: Dual Wielding Rogues – Zevran, Isabela, Sigrun"

"Round Four: Offensive Mages – Morrigan, Velanna, Merrill"

"Round Five: Warriors with Gigantic Weapons – Sten, Oghren, Fenris, Carver... wait a second, I thought one of your siblings was dead Hawke!"

"A wizard did it."

"Oh well, if that's the case..."

"And finally Round Six: Sniper Rogues – Leliana, Nathaniel, Varric, and Sebastian"

"And then... GRANDE FINALE ROUNDE!"

"Really?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Again, welcome one and all to Dances With Dragon Age, and may the best companion win!"


	3. Round 2: Swords and Shields

As the balcony calmed down again, on the floor three people wearing heavy armor paced around the room. They shrug and stretch as they move, trying to get all of the parts to settle. They are tall and imposing, especially the lone female; a redhead wearing the armor of a Kirkwall guard and carrying a green clover-shaped shield. One man looks to be several decades older than the others, but his dark hair shows no trace of grey. The blond man wearing a crown actually doesn't look all that frighting in comparison, more like a puppy just learning to bite.

"So Mahariel, how are our mages doing?" The Champion of Kirkwall leaned back in her seat.

"Just fine, Hawke. Wynne is obviously in the best condition at the moment, but Bethany and Anders swear they're doing just fine. They don't seem to want to go anywhere near Wynne though."

"I wonder why. You know, I just saw Anders. He seems... happier, or something."

"I don't know what you mean, he seems the same to me."

"He seems less... conflicted. And he didn't mention evil templars once in our conversation."

"Well, he's lacking a spirit that represents an unyielding concept in his head."

"That's probably it."

"Are we ready to begin?"

"Right then. Up next, Round Two – Warriors Who Like To Hide Behind Dishes of Steel. At one end we have Teyrn Loghain of the Grey Wardens, King Alistair of Ferelden – also of the Grey Wardens – and Aveline; Guard Captain of Kirkwall! May the bes..." Hawke stopped short as the door to the ballroom suddenly slammed open. A figure in full armor with sword and shield drawn strode into the center of the floor. Weapons appeared all over the ballroom, every one trained at the new person. The figure sheathed his sword and lifted a gloved hand to his helm. With a slight twist, he removed the helmet, revealing a decaying corpse underneath. Only Anders set down his staff.

"HELLO. MAY I JOIN THIS BATTLE?" The corpse said. Several spectators put down their weapons, including Mahariel.

"Justice? Is that you? I thought you left." said Mahariel with a confused look on her face.

"FOR A BIT. I FOUND ANOTHER BODY."

"Clearly. Umm... that's not Kristoff's is it?"

"NO. THIS ONE IS FRESHER. IT IS SIMILAR IN TRAINING HOWEVER."

"Right... okay... Hawke, what do you think?"

Hawke shrugged. "Why not? Justice was a companion, even if he did turn Anders into psycho-terrorist."

"Great. Ladies and gentlemen, a surprising late addition to Round Two; that Spirit from the Fade, inhabitant of dead bodies and crazy mages... JUSTICE!"

"Shale, on your mark!" The warriors' eyes were glued to the golem standing on the stairs. Shale's arm came down decisively and the four combatants moved towards each other, meeting in the center. Clangs rang out as sword met shield, and the fight began in earnest.

"Y'know Zevran, I think know that corpse." The pirate wench said to the long-haired elf on her left.

"I know I do. I killed him. How did you know him?"

"Please don't say," The heavily tattooed elf on her other side begged, "I'd rather not know."

"You're no fun."

Below, the puppy suddenly turned into a full mabari. After offhandedly deflecting a blow from Justice, King Alistair charged the dark-haired man. Their shields met, and the other Grey Warden was driven backwards by the onslaught, away from the other combatants. He kept his footing and attempted to land a blow on Alistair's head, but was blocked by the king's sword. The two men shoved each other, trying to overpower the other with sheer force. After a few moments of neither gaining ground, they separated and went into a defensive pose. They no longer looked at the other combatants, and hatred burned in Alistair's gaze.

"It looks like Alistair's grudge against Loghain still holds, Mahariel. So sad, that your companions don't get along, even after all these years."

"I know." The elf sighed. "I just hope they remember that they aren't supposed to kill each other..."

"At this point, what's one more corpse on the field?"

There now appeared to be two separate battles going on. In the middle, Justice and the lone woman were bashing away at each other, while off to one side Alistair and Loghain were engaged in a very complicated, very deadly dance. The peanut gallery were much louder this round, shouting encouragements or jeering at the warriors below. Some ran around, trying to get a better view of their preferred fight. Four of the mages stood aloof; Anders and Wynne, the witch in rags, and the Dalish woman on the arm of the Vigil's Keep bowman.

"Can you see where Alistair and Loghain went, Hawke?"

"Nope. Can you?"

"Not at all. Oh! Did you just see that blow Aveline landed on Justice?" Somehow Aveline had gotten inside the corpse's defenses and managed to strike his shield arm, causing him to drop it. As he bent to grab it, Aveline brought her own shield up to connect with his chin, sending him stumbling backwards. A cheer went up from Hawke's companions. Aveline went for an overhead strike with her sword that Justice only just managed to parry. One more step put Justice up against one of the pillars underneath the balcony, which he used to regain his balance. He switched his grip to a two-handed one. Without warning, he rushed Aveline, swinging his sword to connect with her shield. The blow sent Aveline into a half-spin, but Justice continued past her towards his shield still on the floor. Without slowing he leaned over and grabbed it, then turned to face Aveline yet again.

"This is so exciting! It's like watching a tournament of old. Perhaps I should compose a ballad. Aveline's Battle with Justice. Hmm, I think that already is a ballad... No! That one's Aveline's Battle for Justice. This will be completely different." The Orlesian woman reached into her pouch and pulled out a pad of paper and pen and started scribbling furiously. The large qunari standing behind her just snorted.

The other pair were still struggling heavily in the corner. Alistair was still on the offensive and raining down blow after blow. Loghain was stuck; he had been able to fend off Alistair so far, but had yet to gain the upper hand. They seemed to be stalemated.

"I really wish I could see what was going on with Alistair and Loghain." Mahariel sighed.

"You could always move."

"What, and risk someone stealing my seat?"

"Now who would do that?"

"Hawke, everyone else is sitting on stools meant for kindling. Who wouldn't steal my chair?"

"Oh please. If you're so worried, I'll watch your seat for you."

"Oh alright." The elf slid off her seat and sprinted around to the other side of the balcony, sidling in next the drunk dwarf.

Hawke grinned at the dark shadow rippling next to her. "Isabela, have a seat."

"Don't mind if I do." The pirate woman stepped out of the shadows and plopped down heavily in the newly-vacated seat. From across the ballroom, Mahariel glared at Isabela, who only waved insolently. Down below, Loghain was finally starting to fight back. His swings came less frequent than Alistair's, but he found his mark more often than not. So far nothing vital had been hit, but Alistair was looking worried and clearly favoring his right shoulder. Loghain swept his sword across, and Alistair leapt back, narrowly avoiding a slice to the gut. He went into a crouch, nearly disappearing behind his shield, and waited. Loghain moved towards him, his sword pointed forward. Alistair twisted his shield arm and slammed his shield against Loghain's, trapping the older man's sword in between them in the process. His sword came out and made a low sweep, catching Loghain at the knees and depositing him on his back. Alistair was now practically on top of him, continuing to press. With another twist of his shield, Alistair sent Loghain's sword flying. He brought his sword to the Teyrn's neck and for a moment it looked as if he wasn't going to stop there.

With a leap, one of the mabaris was standing over Loghain's head; glaring at Alistair. The king stood up. The mabari backed up and allowed Loghain to get up. He got to one knee holding his sword point down in front of him. Alistair bowed his head once before turning his attention to the other two fighters. The mabari barked and pushed his head into Loghain's back, guiding him towards the door. Wynne came down the stairs and kept to the wall to exit through the same door, presumably to check for injuries.

There was more movement in the balcony as people returned to their seats, many stopping by a certain dwarf with very full pockets. Mahariel made her way back to Hawke, who was chatting animatedly with Isabela.

"And that's when I ran through the flames to save the kitten in Lothering... oh, hi Mahariel!" Hawke said brightly. "Did something interesting happen?" Mahariel just glared at the woman sitting in her seat.

"Hello Isabela. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Right, that. I told you I'd watch it, and I did." Hawke said gleefully. Mahariel drew one of her daggers, and held it at the pirate woman's throat. Hawke sighed. "Fine. Isabela, you better scram."

"But..." Isabela pouted, and failed to look innocent.

"Now, please. Before I hand you over to that qunari over there."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." Hawke smiled wolfishly. Mahariel withdrew her dagger and the Rivaini got up with a huff. The elf slid into her seat. Hawke watched her companion go for a minute before turning back to the Warden. "So, what did I miss?"

"Loghain is out of the competition."

"Oh goody. I wondered why Alistair seemed to be doing nothing."

"He's not doing nothing! He's just trying to find an opening!" Mahariel pouted.

"Looks like nothing to me." Indeed, below Alistair was just standing, watching Aveline and Justice go at each other. He seemed conflicted, as though he couldn't decide whether to hang back or try and attack one of them from behind. The decision was soon taken out of his hands. Justice had spotted the lone warrior out of the corner of his eye and began to press Aveline towards him. When the pair got within reach, he swung his sword in a wide arc, attempting to clip both humans at once. It failed to connect with either, and Alistair and Aveline moved shoulder-to-shoulder against their attacker.

"Is it just me, or is it a bit odd that the two people with the most integrity, the most honor, and let's face it, are the goodiest goody-goodies of our respective parties are the ones fighting against Justice?"

"Yes Hawke, I do think it's strange. I wonder what's going through Alistair and Aveline's heads at this very moment."

"My guess? 'Oh dear Maker, I'm fighting a zombie'."

"I'm just glad I'm not in their boots."

"Why is that?"

"We don't have to smell him from here." The aroma of rotting meat did seem to have an adverse affect on Alistair, who had not engaged Justice until now. He avoided closing with the spirit, preferring to let Justice take the offensive against him. Aveline seemed less affected; having spent the entire battle so far in close proximity to the dead man, her sense of smell had likely shut down in protest ages ago.

Although it was two-on-one, for the moment Justice seemed to have the upper-hand – Aveline and Alistair had to work hard to get a swing at him and every move they made was met by a counterstrike coming in too fast to block easily. They were also mostly successful in getting in each other's way; they managed to trip each as Justice pushed them backwards and in at least one case, simultaneous strikes meant for the corpse were intercepted by each other instead. Rather than turning on each other, they merely cursed and went back to fighting, never taking their eyes off of Justice. He was the biggest threat at the moment, and neither one was willing to change opponents until he was dealt with.

Once more the dead man attempted to cut both opponents at once. He succeeded only in making them retreat. With the two out of reach temporarily, Justice gathered himself and then raised his sword in the air. A wave of spirit energy seemed to radiate from Justice towards the warriors, leaving them doubled over in pain as it passed through them. Alistair recovered first; with narrowed eyes, he leveled his sword, and let loose a burst of spirit fire. It hit Justice, but did not seem to do much damage. Bright blue lines appeared around the corpse and Justice turned all of his attention to the Ferelden king.

"I'm not sure what Alistair did was such a good idea."

"Why's that?"

"That, my dear Hawke, was a templar spell he just used. And from what you've told me about Justice and templars..."

"Oh shit."

"Oh shit, indeed."

Justice was on the attack, focused entirely on Alistair. The onslaught forced the poor man backwards, desperately trying to get out of the way. They fought their way to the stairs and up to the first landing. The hounds and the golem were forced to retreat further up the stairs to avoid the combatants. One strike from Justice sent Alistair's sword flying, the next, his shield. He was completely unprotected and a third swing was being aimed at his torso. The king closed his eyes, his lips moving silently.

There was a big whoosh and the sound of metal hitting flesh. There was a large applause from the balcony, and Alistair opened his eyes. Before him was Justice, only without a head. The body stood swaying for a moment, and then a grinning Aveline casually shoved it over. It hit the ground with a thud. Aveline picked up the king's sword and tossed it back to him. He caught it easily and then picked up his shield. The two of them headed back down the stairs to the center of the ballroom. They bowed briefly to each other, and resumed the fight.

From the headless body a stream of blue light flowed out and up the stairs. It passed into Anders and appeared to stop there. Anders shuddered and his eyes glowed blue briefly before returning to normal.

"I didn't think beheading was allowed..."

"Generally not, I should think, but in this particular instance I don't think it matters."

"True... they were dealing with a dead body when the fight began."

"And I don't think Justice is actually dead."

"What do you mean, Hawke?"

"Hey Anders! What do you think about mages?"

"MAGES MUST BE FREE. THE TEMPLARS MUST BE DESTROYED."

"I see. Bollocks."

"I know Mahariel. I was hoping to get to know Anders without a split personality."

"Really? But I thought you liked threesomes."

"Justice is kind of a bore." Down below, Alistair and Aveline seemed tired. There was less power behind their swings, and they could only just manage to get their shields up to block. The lackluster sparring went on for several minutes. Upstairs, the dark Dalish girl's head was on the beardless dwarf's shoulder and a soft snoring sound was coming from her.

"How long do you think this could go on Mahariel?"

"I don't know. I hope something exciting happens soon though. This is really boring."

"We could play a game. How about I-Spy? Or 'What color are my underclothes'?"

"How about, 'Who's got the biggest knives'?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Alistair lunged forward, but rather than blocking, Aveline merely turned aside. Momentum and exhaustion caused the king to continue forward, stumbling slightly. Aveline used her the flat of her blade to hit Alistair in the ass as he went forward. He lost his balance and fell on his face. With a groan, he struggled to get up, but the point of Aveline's sword was at his back.

"Yield."

"Myr hfyird" Alistair mumbled. Aveline looked nonplussed.

"I said, yield!"

"Grlef mr futp!" He waved one hand frantically. Aveline kept the sword at his back.

"Aveline, let Alistair up. I think he's trying to surrender." Hawke commanded the guardswoman. The warrior looked slightly miffed, but withdrew her sword. Alistair slowly stood up, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

"I said 'I yield', you daft woman! Couldn't you understand me?"

"Apparently not when you're eating the floor. Did it taste good?"

"Delicious. Like cheese and sweaty feet." Alistair removed one gauntlet and stuck out his hand. Aveline stared at it for a second before removing her own gauntlet and clasped his hand. The king went down on one knee before her.

"My lady, it was a honor to fight you." With that he stood up and headed out the door, stumbling like a drunk. Anders followed him. Aveline made a slow turn, and then punched the air with her sword; triumphant. More applause broke out from the balcony, the side with Hawke's companions overpowering everyone else. The ginger guard made a deep bow and exited the ballroom, practically skipping. Over on the stairs, the golem was picking up the remains of the corpse formally known as Justice.

"And we have our winner, Hawke!"

"And a completely deserving one at that."

"So what's next?"

"I believe we'll take a short break, and then we'll see some rogues."

"Oh good! Do you think we'll see Justice fight in that round too?"

"Frankly Mahariel, I really hope not."


	4. Interlude: Conversations and Quaffing

Just outside the ballroom lay another room. It's intended purpose was unclear, but for the moment it was set up as an infirmary/reception area. Cots occupied fully half of one end of the room where the healers were checking over Loghain, Alistair, and Aveline. The other half was open; long tables covered with food were pushed off to the side. The rest of the guests mingled and chatted, availing themselves of refreshments.

"Hello miss, good to see you again! Could my boy or I get you anything?" An old dwarf carrying a tray hailed the redheaded Orlesian. She shook her head and smiled at him and the younger dwarf trailing behind him.

"Nothing for me Bodhan, but maybe you have something for Schmooples here?" She indicated the odd-looking pink creature following her.

"Enchantment!" The young dwarf bent down and patted the nug. Bodhan shrugged.

"Barbeque sauce?"

Somewhere near the barrels of wine and ale, another two male dwarfs were quaffing foaming mugs.

"So, Varric Tethras, eh? Any relation to the former noble house of Tethras?" The red-bearded dwarf asked his drinking partner.

"The very same, my good dwarf."

"Huh. My old man was in one of those 'fixed' Provings. Can't say I'm pleased to see the likes of you here."

"I had nothing to do with that. I'm a simple merchant. Here, have another ale." Varric took the other dwarf's mug and refilled it from one of the barrels. "And you must be Oghren. I've heard stories about you."

"Yeah? Most of them a whole lotta nug droppings, I bet." Oghren took a swig from his newly refilled mug.

"Oh they are. I should know, I made a few of them up myself."

Over by the door, the two largest members of the party stood looking over the rest of the proceedings.

"I have a question for the Qunari. Why does it participate in this madness?" The golem asked slowly and gravely.

"I don't know, kadan. Perhaps it is because these people have forgotten what I am capable of and must be reminded. I was also promised a week's worth of cookies if I fought these vastly inferior opponents."

"Ah. I see. I was wondering why the Qunari did not just crush their heads."

"It is talk like that, kadan, that prevents you from showing your skill." The qunari, Sten, laid a single hand on Shale's rocky shoulder.

"It wants me only to stand guard. Most monotonous. But it has also tasked me with clearing the feathered fiends from the ballroom. Apparently it does not want droppings on the floors."

"Mahariel can be very wise on occasion."

"It would not let me get rid of the feathered mage, however. I feel that was a mistake."

"As do I."

Over at the food table, a slightly distracted elf in Keeper robes bumped into another, angry-looking elf in similar robes.

"Oh, excuse me, sorry..." The small dark-haired Dalish looked into the face of the blonde woman. "... I think I know you. Velanna isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Merrill. We met at the last Gathering of the Clans. Or at least the last Gathering I was at. You were that other clan's First. We talked. Or at least I talked... we discussed our studies... you didn't say much, and I thought... never mind..." The small elf trailed off. Velanna narrowed her eyes.

"Yes. I remember you now. The chatty one. That was the last Gathering I went to as well. I was... not part of the clan after that."

"Did they move you to a different clan?"

"I was exiled."

"Oh! Me too! Fancy that happening to both of us. Although I wasn't exiled really, well... I sort of was. My clan really didn't like me working blood magic, but I was careful, I really was. Why were you exiled? Or is that too personal? Oh dear, I've been talking to much again..." Merril babbled on while the other elf remained speechless. "Ah well. The food here is good, isn't it? You should have some. We'll be needing the fuel. I'll see you in our round, of course. I'm sure it will be very exciting!" Velanna could only watch as the dark-haired ball of energy skipped off with a plate of food.

"Blood magic? Her?"

"OW!" Cried the King of Fereldan as Wynne tapped his knee. "Whaddya do that for?"

"I'm just testing your reflexes. Now quit your whining."

"But I'm fine! Really! Aveline doesn't hit that hard." At that comment the woman on the next cot pulled out her sword, startling Bethany in the process.

"I could hit you harder if you wish. My King." Aveline's smile was predatory. Alistair looked slightly alarmed.

"That's okay..."

"Now sit still, and if you're a good boy, I'll give you a sweetie." Wynne said as she examined Alistair's ears. Aveline rolled her eyes and put her sword away.

"Carver, don't go anywhere near that woman." The man in the bright white armor with a Starkhaven accent told his companion.

"What woman? I'm not looking at any woman."

"Oh no? Then it must have been the chocolate fountain, and not the witch standing next to it that has kept your attention for the past fifteen minutes. And before that, it was probably the qunari she was sitting next to. Seriously Carver, she is an apostate..."

"Shut up Sebastian. I know that Chant as well as you do. It's just... Maker... I've never seen anyone who looked like her before."

"Not outside the Blooming Rose at any rate. And I don't mean to be preachy. What I'm trying to say is, please stay away from the woman who turned into a bear because Isabela hit on her. For my sake?"

"Fine."

Barkspawn and Sir Fluffy stood in the entrance to the doorway. They barked once majestically, and the room went silent. When they had everyone's full attention, Barkspawn barked twice more, and both mabari hounds marched back into the ballroom. The guests followed slowly. Back to the fighting.


	5. Round 3: Rogues of Duel-Wielding

The guests filed back into the ballroom and made their way up to the balcony. Some, mostly Grey Wardens, brought with them plates of food. Oghren brought with him a barrel and an empty mug. The dwarf struggled only a little bringing it up the stairs, where he deposited it next to his stool and filled his mug from the tap sticking out of the barrel. After downing the ale in a single gulp, he proceeded to refill his mug.

"Welcome back! I hope everyone had a good break. We're on Round Three: The Sneaky Backstabbers." Hawke said cheerily.

In this round we have... wait, are they back yet? I don't see them." Mahariel looked around the ballroom frantically.

"Zevran? Isabela? Sigrun?"

"We are here. Actually, I don't know about the others, but I am here, at least." An Antivan-accented voice seemed to be coming from the direction of a pillar.

"I'm here too!" The golem's voice sounded much higher and perkier than normal.

"Andraste's tits. We're ready!" Directly behind Mahariel and Hawke the female voice held a tinge of exasperation.

"Maker help me!" Hawke groaned. "We're having a tournament, not playing hide-and-seek. At least show yourselves for the introduction. We'll give you enough time to go back into stealth before we start, okay?"

"Okay..." chorused three voices. Out of the shadow of the pillar stepped the long-haired Antivan elf with facial tattoos. A small female dwarf crawled out from between the golem's legs, and the pirate wench moved forward next to Hawke.

"Isabela, please go downstairs. I don't want you guys fighting around me." The pirate wench nodded, and with a running start, vaulted over the balcony railing. She somersaulted once in the air before landing on the ballroom floor below. Hawke shook her head and sighed. Mahariel once again started the introduction.

"Alright! This battle we have Zevran; formerly of the Antivan Crows, Isabela; captain of the Siren's Call..." here Hawke whispered furiously in Mahariel's ear, "...Two, and Sigrun; Legion of the Dead and Grey Warden of Vigil's Keep! Let's have a good, clean fight!" The three rogues looked at each other, then back at the hosts before bursting out laughing. "Or whatever..."

"Shale... on my mark!" Hawke shouted. The rogues on the ballroom made a noise of protest.

"You said we'd have time to stealth!"

"I'll give you to the count of five. One... two..." The three combatants scrambled for the shadows. "Threefourfive. Shale!" Shale once again lowered her arm to begin the battle. Despite the rushed timing Zevran, Isabela, and Sigrun had all managed to disappear again. The ballroom was silent. Nothing happened for a moment. And then the moment stretched on, and on. And on.

"Well this round is really interesting. Tell you what, the first person to spot a rogue gets a cookie." Mahariel looked around the room. "Anyone? No?"

"While we're waiting for our friends to show themselves, Mahariel, I have a question for you."

"What's that?"

"Why are so many of your companions dead?"

"What do you mean? They're all right here."

"No, I mean, well... Wynne's already dead, or has at least died once, Justice was wearing the body of a corpse when he joined you, and Sigrun's been to her own funeral."

"Oh, that. I don't know. I'm a necrophiliac?"

"One – ewww, and two – seriously."

"Seriously? I don't know, they find me. But they are handy. See, once someone has died, I don't have to feel responsible if they fall while fighting for me. After all, why should I waste time worrying about someone who's already dead?"

"Good point. Maybe I should have a dead companion or two."

"On the other hand, they hate the battle plan 'run away and live another day'."

"Oh, and that's one of my favorites too." Screaming suddenly filled the air, and Isabela and Zevran came stumbling into the middle of the ballroom, both clutching their ribs. Sigrun strode behind them, swinging her twin axes nonchalantly.

"Oh good, there they are! Nice hit by Sigrun too. At least I'm guessing that was Sigrun. So who spotted them first? Anyone? Fine, more cookies for me." The Dalish rogue clapped her hands excitedly. Below, Isabela was doubled over in pain, but Zevran's injury apparently wasn't as bad. He turned to face Sigrun, sword and dagger at the ready. Zevran tried to move behind her, but the dwarf moved surprisingly fast, always keeping him in her sight. He flicked his sword toward her, she trapped it between her axes and with a yank, sent it flying. It landed point first in a pillar. Zevran used the opening to drive his dagger into the arm joints of her armor. The Antivan pulled the dagger out quickly and drew a second one from elsewhere on his person. Sigrun blinked and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she didn't budge an inch. Zevran apparently felt he'd done what he needed to, and went sprinting over to where Isabela was still bent over.

"Hawke, I think that blade was poisoned! Did we allow that?"

"We never disallowed it. And I think we specifically said 'anything goes', right? Besides if you were fighting, you'd use poison. I know I would."

"You're right, I totally would."

"Case closed."

Zevran took a flying leap at Isabela's back. Isabela seemed to sense him; as he came up and over, she went into a back walkover and the elf missed her completely. Zevran managed to twist around midair so he was facing her when he landed. They grinned at each other and closed the distance between them. The four daggers moved in a blur as the pair went into a complicated dance.

Up in the balcony, Varric blinked, and looked frantically at the floor below.

"Where did that cute dwarf go?" The white-haired elf laughed at his remark.

"Cute dwarf? Do you mean the one with the large axe, or the one who got hit with poison?"

"The female one, elf. Where did she go?"

"She's right... oh, I see what you mean." Apparently the poison's effects had worn off, and rather than get involved in the duel, Sigrun had gone into hiding again.

"Hah! She's too smart for the likes of them. Let Isabela and Zevran wear themselves out, and she'll come back, fresh as a daisy, to win the day."

"Varric, you sound smitten. You usually only talk about Bianca like that."

Isabela bent to avoid a high strike by Zevran. Still crouched, she swept her daggers low across Zevran's waist. Before he could blink she was at his back and slashed him with another sweep of her daggers. The pirate then leapt backwards a pace, and waited, smirking at her handiwork. Zevran stood confused for a moment, and then took a step towards Isabela. The minute he moved, Zevran's leather battle skirt fell away, leaving the poor elf exposed from the waist down.

Laughter filled the room and a slight blush crossed Zevran's cheeks. Recovering, he posed and made a slow turn for the benefit of the entire room. The guffawing got louder. Isabela was practically choking in her own amusement. When the elf finished his rotation directly in front of her, he flicked out his own knife and pointed it at her waist. Isabela bolted up in surprise. With a twist of his dagger, he somehow managed to remove the blue sash off her hips and in another second had tied it around his own. No longer exposed, he put up his daggers and made a very rude gesture to the pirate wench.

"You know, I don't think they're taking this seriously." Mahariel frowned.

"What ever gave you that impression?" Sarcasm dripped from Hawke's tongue as she watched the battle. This time, instead of closing with the elf, Isabela decided to run. Zevran took off after her and she led him around the perimeter of the ballroom. After dodging in and out of pillars a few times Zevran changed tactics. Instead of following her around the next pillar, he intercepted her as she turned a corner. The Rivaini woman didn't slow as she approached Zevran; instead she jumped practically straight up in the air and landed on his shoulders. She jumped again, catching the balcony railing and scrambling up the side. One of her feet kicked Zevran's head in the process, and he fell forward. He managed to channel the momentum into a roll, and came up on his feet.

He scanned the room for Isabela, and spotted her on the balcony, standing alone. Anybody who had been sitting near there had moved as far away as possible. The Antivan Crow sheathed his daggers and dashed towards the sword stuck in the pillar. He leapt onto the sword - it somehow managed to hold his weight - and grabbed the edge of the balcony with one hand. He stuck his foot into the sword's grip and kicked it out and up, catching it in his free hand. He pulled himself up the rest of the way and jumped over the railing onto the balcony.

Unfortunately, he was now on the opposite side of the room from Isabela. The two locked eyes, and took off, sprinting towards each other. Stools were knocked over as the people sitting in them got out of the way in a hurry. The rogues rounded the corner and were closing in, with only Mahariel and Hawke between them.

"Oh crap." Mahariel looked in both directions, but there was nowhere to go without running into steel. Hawke had already gone over the railing to the ballroom floor. Mahariel gulped, and followed her down, a mere moment before Isabela and Zevran collided.

"I said I didn't want you fighting around me!" Hawke called up to the rogues as she made her way towards the stairs.

"I don't think they care." Mahariel said, following close behind. Indeed, Zevran had grabbed Isabela's face in one hand, and was kissing her thoroughly. Slowly, one of his daggers crept up and along her back. She arched as the metal sliced upwards before twisting away from him. Her corset didn't follow, ending up in a pile on the floor, the lacing strings cut. There was cheering from a few members of the audience, but it was impossible to tell who as most were huddled together by the stairs. Isabela slashed at Zevran with one of her daggers and launched herself over the railing again. Without the corset and sash that normally kept her very short dress from riding up, the audience got an eyeful as she traveled downward.

Rather than going over the balcony, Zevran opted to run around sending the peanut gallery scurrying like mice. Isabela's last attack had split his tunic straight down the middle; it flapped around him as he ran. Clearly annoyed by it; he threw it off, leaving him bare-chested and bare-legged with only Isabela's sash saving him from complete indecency.

The other guests slowly returned to their seats. There was a lot of whispering and coin passing to Varric; apparently there was a new set of wages being made.

"Quick poll, everyone. How many of you have seen Zevran naked? Before today, I mean." Ten hands, including both Hawke and Mahariel went up. One of the mabaris barked.

"How many have you seen Isabela naked?" Thirteen hands this time and both hounds howled.

"Right, and who's had sex with either of them? No? Too much? Alright." Hawke shrugged.

"Why didn't they just do this naked in the first place? The fight would be so much more exciting, don't you think?" The Dalish mage sitting next to Aveline giggled. Aveline only groaned in response.

Apparently the rogues were done trying to rip each other's clothes off for the moment, and their duel had taken a serious bent. The daggers, and Zevran's sword, were flying in earnest, but neither was able to land a hit. At some point they had managed to find time to re-poison their blades; they glistened with an unholy sheen and the duelist and the assassin were taking great pains to avoid getting stabbed. Zevran lunged forward, only to have Isabela drop and roll to the side in an attempt to get behind him. Zevran did a backflip over her and Isabela only just managed to turn and parry his oncoming strike. Zevran advanced, forcing her to backpedal furiously to keep out of his way.

Something made Isabela trip. She stumbled backwards, falling on her butt. There was a clang and a glugging noise and a strange liquid oozed onto the ballroom. Zevran took a step into the goo and lost his balance. He windmilled furiously which only seemed to worsen matters, ending up flat on his face beside Isabela.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Oh no no no no no..." Mahariel moaned, and covered her face with her hands.

"What's the matter?"

"I just had this place cleaned too... It's never coming out..." The elf was crying now.

"Seriously, what happened?"

"Can't you tell? Somebody set a grease trap. And now I have to clean it up!"

"Just make whoever did it clean it."

"Well who was it?"

"How about that dwarf we haven't seen for a while?"

"SIGRUN! Once you come out of stealth, you are cleaning this ballroom ALL BY YOURSELF!"

"Oh great, we'll probably never see her again."

Isabela and Zevran were scrambling, trying to find their footing in the slippery muck. They were starting to glisten as their repeated tumbles left them covered in grease. Isabela's white shift was clinging to her and becoming more than a little transparent. The audience, especially the males, were looking at the pirate with unusual interest interest. The females seemed more interested in Zevran, and the way the light played off of his shiny, muscular chest. Finally, they manged to drag themselves to a dry spot on the floor. Isabela whipped off her head scarf and wiped off the soles of her boots. She tossed the rag to Zevran, who did the same. They were otherwise still very, very shiny.

Isabela made the first move, holding her daggers in a reverse grip and leaping up to bring them down on either side of Zevran's head. He lifted his crossed sword and dagger to block the blow, and the dance began again. Carefully avoiding what remained of the grease trap, they made their way closer and closer to the nearest door. Their duel took them out the door and around the corner, much to the confusion of the audience. Seconds passed without any sign of them. Seconds turned into minutes and rest of the party was starting to get restless. Eventually even Sigrun stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed and tapping her foot impatiently.

"Anders..." Mahariel said a little uneasily, "Can you go check and see that they're okay?"

The mage nodded and started sprinting for the doorway. Apparently he'd forgotten about the grease and tripped briefly as he crossed it. His pace had slown considerably by the time he reached the door. The audience watched as he went around the corner, only to reappear a split second later, his hand over his eyes, and his mouth wide open in shock.

"Anders... what happened?" The mage opened his eyes, and made a visible show of calming himself as he went up the stairs and around to where Hawke was sitting. He bent down and whispered in her ear. Hawke groaned, her hands flying to her forehead.

"What is it, Hawke?"

"I think this match may be over..." she said, massaging her temples slowly. Below, Sigrun looked startled.

"Really? Who won?"

"I believe Isabela is on top..." interrupted Anders. Hawke glared at him from hooded eyes.

"What in the Creator's name are you talking about?" Mahariel glance back and forth between Hawke and Anders.

"It's Zevran and Isabela... what do you think happened?"

"Oh."

"Right."

"Really? But... it's a battle..."

"Right, and now they're waging an entirely different kind of battle."

"Well, that's..."

"Completely to be expected?"

"Yes, but I mean... who wins now?"

"Sigrun! You're the winner!"

"But I barely got to fight anyone!" The newly championed dwarf complained.

"Well, you did manage to actually draw blood. And I assume it was you that set the grease trap." Hawke offered.

"Yeah, that was me." The dwarf said proudly.

"You could always go and finish them off if you wanted." Mahariel said kindly.

"I would suggest waiting until they finished each other off first."

"Did you have to go there, Hawke?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Ladies and gentlemen, in a rather... interesting turn of events, the winner of this round is Sigrun!" There was an uncertain round of applause from the balcony, led by two very enthusiastic male dwarfs.

"Okay then. On to the next round! After we clean up all the grease!"

"And by we, we mean Sigrun!"

"Don't worry Sigrun, I'm sure the mages will help you out. If you're nice." Sigrun's lower lip trembled as she looked pleadingly at the mages in the balcony. "We're halfway through. Up next, more mages!"

"More scorch marks. Yey."


	6. Round 4: Battle Mages

In the ballroom, the companions were shifting around restlessly. The lone female dwarf was on her knees scrubbing. A few mages stood around her, waving their staffs. Two other mages merely stood off to the side and looked bored. Their efforts paid off; the ballroom was looking somewhat cleaner. With a final swipe, Sigrun stood up and dusted off her knees. The mages put down their staffs, and three of them returned up the stairs to the balcony. The last one joined the bored mages, a big smile on her face.

"Well, it's good that's all taken care of, now isn't it? It would be awful if one of us slipped in it, I mean, just think, we're in the middle of a spell, and whoops, down we go. The spell would go all over the place, and who knows what we might hit..." The chatty elf trailed off, sensing that the other two were ignoring her. The other elf woman was examining her staff while the lone human just stared in the distance.

The Crow and the pirate swaggered into the ballroom, apparently having found new clothes. Isabela's looked exactly like her previous outfit, only the corset was a different color. Merrill waved as they went past and Isabela winked at her. Merrill tried to wink back, but only managed to pull off an odd blink.

"Nice of you to join us. I hope you two... oh Void take you, I don't care enough to finish that thought. Hello everyone, we're back!" 

"Welcome to Round Four: Which Witch is the Biggest Bitch? This round our contestants are Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds, Velanna; former Keeper-in-training, and Merrill; also a former Keeper-in-training. Seriously Hawke, Merrill? I've been trying to figure out for the past three rounds why she's up against these two. Merrill? She's..."

"A blood mage."

"What?"

"And it's your fault."

"My fault?"

"You just had to touch the pretty mirror..." Hawke tsked.

"I didn't... it wasn't... Tamlen... what the... blood mage? Really?"

"Yup."

"Okay then." Mahariel voice rose to a squeak. "So... are we ready to start?"

"Definitely. Shale." Hawke nodded her head towards the golem. The stone creature once again signaled the beginning of the match, though it was decidedly less motivated than in previous rounds.

Within seconds the ballroom had turned into a jungle. A very thorny, deadly looking jungle. Vines crawled along the floor and up the pillars, stopping just short of the second level. Even so, most watching had scooted their stools a few feet back. There were two small clearings in the midst of the greenery; each held a Dalish woman in the center. Merrill was in the process of encasing herself in natural stone armor and Velanna seemed to be gearing up for another spell. Where Morrigan had stood only few seconds ago, there was now a swarm of insects.

"I really hope those things are temporary." Murmured Mahariel.

"Chances are... no. By the way, I just realized something."

"Hawke, I'm getting very tired of your realizations."

"I know, that's why I do it."

"I'm going to regret this, but what did you realize?"

"It's just that, well, doesn't it strike you as odd that amongst our mages, it's the abominations that will take care of your wounds and it's the Dalish Keepers – the ones who are supposed to protect lore and their clan and all that good stuff – who have the potential to kill you in so many interesting ways?" Hawke smiled brightly. There was no reply from the elf. "Mahariel?"

"I hate you so much."

Velanna's next spell was interrupted as the swarm buzzed around her head. She tried to swat them away, but they just kept coming. They apparently had stingers too, Velanna was starting to develop little red bumps where the swarm hit her. Over in the other clearing, Merrill had erected a translucent shield around herself.

Velanna managed to ignore the insects long enough to prepare another spell. She aimed her staff at the thickest part of the swarm, and shot a flame of fire at it. The swarm dropped low and coalesced into human shape. The whole thing shimmered slightly as the insects became Morrigan. There were a few burns on her arm and one on her cheek from the parts of her that got hit by the flames. She immediately put up a domed shield and just in time. The fire, having mostly passed through the swarm, hit the nearest pillar with force. Unfortunately, that same pillar was also covered in greenery courtesy of the Dalish women. The flames caught, and rose higher as more and more of the thorny vines burned. Morrigan glared at the blond elf, who looked perturbed; she clearly did not expect this to happen.

While the flames continued to burn hot and bright, a few noticed a dark shadow passing over the ballroom. Isabela was the first to recognize the black storm clouds that were amassing in the vicinity of the ceiling and quickly pulled out a clock from her pack. A crack of thunder, rain and lightning poured down from the ceiling onto the flames. The audience breathed a sigh of relief as the rain dampened the inferno below. The lightning was less welcome, as a few bolts of electricity arced towards those wearing plate metal. Lightning also managed to respark a few fires, but those were quickly washed out in the torrent. Velanna and Morrigan also had to dodge a few lightning strikes;as their staffs acted as conductors. Merrill alone stood untouched in the center of the maelstrom.

As the fire dampened, Morrigan started to move. It wasn't easy; charred roots, thorny vines, and spot fires still littered the landscape and lightning made the path even more dangerous, but standing within spitting distance of one of the Dalish was even more dangerous. She climbed a pile of greenery and stood up, pointing her staff in the air. The cloud changed from black to white, and the lightning subsided. The rain turned to snow, and the temperature of the room dropped quickly. The wet vines froze over quickly, and puddles of water became puddles of ice in moments. Up in the balcony, a few people huddled together for warmth.

"Interesting weather we're having." Remarked Anders to the young mage beside him.

"Hmph. Showoffs." Bethany snitted. Neither one seemed particularly affected by the rapid changes in the environment.

"Are you seeing this! It's fantastic! Mahariel? Mahariel, are you all right?" The elf had buried her face in her hands and was weeping softly. Hawke chuckled and returned her gaze to the mages below.

They were all mostly stuck. Between the blizzard and ice, the one or two fires that somehow hadn't been put out, and the vines that still covered everything, the ballroom floor was a treacherous mess. Every step the mages took would risk a poke, or burn, or a fall on the ice that would leave them vulnerable. Another dark cloud formed, this time directly over Merrill. Though it looked somewhat less substantial than the storm cloud, it was somehow more foreboding. With a swirl of her staff, the mist flowed towards Velanna and Morrigan. It hit Velanna first; she cried out and clutched at her head. She looked up, eyes wide with fright, and start to back away from some horror unseen by the rest of the crowd.

Morrigan saw Velanna's reaction and looked at the cloud making it's way towards her. She slammed up an invisible barrier and the blackness crawled along the edges, seeking purchase. She made a motion with her hand, and the cloud dispersed into nothing. Morrigan's spell apparently removed anything magical in origin; the pile of frozen vines she was standing on gave way and submerged back into the ground. She gestured again in the direction of stricken blond elf, and turned her attention to the cause of the shadows.

Merrill's rock armor was suddenly becoming very stifling. She looked down at her body; the layer of rock was thinning. At the same time, she felt heavier and movement was becoming harder. She looked at her fingertip; they seemed to have turned to stone.

"Well played Morrigan!"

"Oh so you're watching again?"

"Shut up. But you got to admit, turning Merrill's own spell against her to petrify her... that was genius!"

"It was an excellent move."

Morrigan was prepping for another spell to aim at the stonified Merrill when something shot past her ear. It missed her completely but she whirled around, forgetting about the statue. Velanna had stood up and was aiming her staff at the witch. Velanna shot off another bolt of arcane magic, but missed yet again. She drew herself up and unleashed a plethora of deadly motes, but not a one managed to touch Morrigan. Velanna stopped and examined her staff. Morrigan merely laughed.

"Ooh... I think Morrigan put a hex on Velanna..."

"Ouch. That can't be good for her."

"Nice of you to state the obvious, Mahariel."

Velanna apparently figured out that any spell she cast was doomed to miss so she changed tactics. Wielding her staff in both hands like a sword, Velanna charged towards Morrigan. She ran into a patch of ice on the floor and went sliding. Unfortunately, she was a bit too far off to one side. She still managed to swing her staff as she glided past, delivering a harsh blow to the back of Morrigan's unprotected knees. The witch's legs buckled and she went down. The blond elf took a leap off of the ice and twisted around to face her victim.

Something very odd was happening to the golden-eyed woman – her back appeared to be growing larger and with a pronounced hump. Things appeared to sprout from her abdomen. The audience watched in horror as Morrigan went from a very pretty human to a very large and ugly spider. She was black all over, with fangs that poison seemed to fairly drip from.

In a panic, Velanna summoned a fireball and threw it at the spider. Unfortunately, the hex held and it missed completely; instead hitting a frozen vine-covered pillar with a sizzle. She held her staff up in front of her and tried to summon a shield to block the advancing Morrigan. The witch-spider ignored it, leaping on the poor elf and pinning her down with all eight of her hairy legs. Velanna could do nothing but scream as Morrigan's fangs came closer and closer to her face.

"Hold!" Shouted a voice from the balcony. The dark-haired bowman raced down the stairs.

"Nathaniel, what are you doing?" Mahariel called down. The spider scuttled back off of Velanna. Nathaniel rushed to her side, and helped her to her feet. The spider morphed back into Morrigan, and stood off to one side with her arms crossed. There was a short, quiet, but obviously heated argument that ended with Velanna's bowed head and a glare from Nathaniel. The elf sighed and stepped forward, looking up at the balcony.

"I yield to Morrigan." She said, scorn dripping with every word. She winced, and put a hand to her neck. She lifted it and stared at her palm which held a trace of green poison. A slight red mark was forming on her neck and palm. She shot Nathaniel a grateful look, and took his arm as they headed out the ballroom, followed by Anders. Morrigan watched them go and then looked up at the two hosts.

"Okay well it looks like..."

"Uh, Mahariel..." Hawke pointed at a spot on the ballroom floor. Morrigan and Mahariel's gaze followed the direction of her hand. The rock statue that was Merrill was regaining flesh color. Slowly, one of her arms started to move. A stone rose from the ground and hurled itself towards Morrigan, who didn't have time to react and was knocked to the ground. The Witch of the Wilds wasn't down for long, she leapt to her feet in a flash. Merrill and Morrigan faced each other, staffs at the ready.

"Hey Sigrun," drawled the red-bearded dwarf. "Didjya know about Howe and Velanna?" The female dwarf next to him snorted.

"By the stone Oghren, did you really not notice?"

"Pity. She was hot for a bony elf."

"She didn't like you much."

"I know. Still, a dwarf can look."

"Or leer, in your case."

"Jealous, Sigrun?" Oghren sniggered.

"Ancestors, save me."

Morrigan was a little wobbly on her feet, but she manged to hold it together. She expelled a giant pulse of light that hit Merrill like a sledgehammer. The Dalish woman let out a strangled cry though the light left no visible damage. The light bounced back towards it's caster, who stood straighter and stronger with renewed energy.

Merrill waved her staff, but nothing happened. She stood for a moment, eyes closed and focused inward. She put her staff on her back and from her belt drew a very small knife. With her eyes still closed, she placed the edge of the knife in her palm and gritted her teeth. In one swift motion, she sliced the knife across her palm and returned it to the sheath on her belt. She opened her eyes again; they were glowing a hellish red color.

"What did she just..." Mahariel said, bewildered

"I told you. Merrill's a blood mage."

"I didn't think she would actually use it."

"Morrigan forced her hand when she drained her."

"By the Dread Wolf."

Merrill reached out towards Morrigan and clenched her hands. Morrigan's body jerked and her eyes rolled back in her head. When Merrill threw her hands down, the swamp witch jerked again and fell to her knees, her staff on the ground next to her left hand. Merrill took her own staff off of her back and and loosed a bolt of lightning. Morrigan took up her staff, sending a whirlwind of cold directly at the electric bolt. The spells met midair, the cold wrapping around the bolt, causing it to dissipate harmlessly in the atmosphere. The rest of the wind hit Merrill and swirled around her, freezing her in place.

Morrigan walked over to the frozen figure – carefully, as the ground was still covered in ice and vines. She held out her staff, and gently tapped the ice-covered elf. Merrill fell over, a few ice crystals shattering around her. The witch sighed and poked the elf in the stomach with her staff. A warm glow suffused Merrill, and she stirred as the ice melted around her. She looked down at the staff still at her stomach and then up at Morrigan standing over her.

"You win." She said with a grin. She held out her hand. Morrigan grabbed it, and the elf hopped to her feet, shaking Morrigan's hand the entire time. "Well that was really interesting wasn't it? I mean, I didn't really like the parts where I couldn't move and all, but wow! You turned into insects and a spider! Can you do anything else? Like something not so creepy? I mean, I'm sure the scary helps in a fight..." Her legs chose to give out at that moment, and Morrigan had to hold her to keep her steady.

"Perhaps... yes... perhaps I should go lie down for a bit." Morrigan continued to support the woozy elf until Wynne came down and collected her. They left the ballroom with Merrill leaning heavily on the older woman's shoulder. Morrigan stood in the center of the room, as if daring them to cheer for her. No one rose to the challenge.

"Merrill was right about one thing; Morrigan makes one creepy spider."

"She does indeed Hawke."

"Congratulations Morrigan! You won the second mage round!"

"Does that mean we're finished with mages? I'm so thrilled."

"Only until the final round. Morrigan will join Wynne, Aveline, and Sigrun, and two yet to be determined. Hey! I just noticed something Mahariel."

"Not again."

"All of our winners so far are female."

"That's because they're ridiculously awesome Hawke. Although that streak will end with the next round."

"Why's that?"

"There's absolutely no women in the next round."

"Right. So let's take a short break, and we'll come back for round five. Hopefully somebody will have cleaned up the ballroom in the meantime."

"Pretty please?"


	7. Interlude: Getting it Off Their Chests

Back in the reception room, many of the guest were refilling their plates and mingling. The mages were off in a corner; the healers tending to the three who just finished their battle. Over by the door, two white-haired men stood staring straight ahead; one a lean and long elf covered in glowing tattoos, the other the large and imposing qunari.

"Anaan esaam Qun." Said the elf after a long moment of silence. The larger one whipped his head around.

"You know my language?"

"A little. My name is Fenris. I was with the Fog Warriors for a time."

"I see. You are aware they don't follow the Qun, and are not true qunari?"

"I ended up killing them."

"Really? Good for you. Perhaps you are not unworthy after all."

"Perhaps neither are you. We shall see in the arena."

"Yes we shall. I am Sten. Well met Fenris." The two men shook hands and turned back to staring straight ahead with their arms folded across their chests.

On one of the cots, Bethany was tending to Morrigan's wounds. She seemed a bit nervous around the golden-eyed woman.

"So... you're Morrigan, then?" She ventured, trying to break the ice.

"That is correct."

"Are you really Flemeth's daughter?"

"So she has told me for the entirety of my life."

"I met her once."

"'Tis so? I'm sure 'twas most informative."

"Not really. She did rescue us from Lothering, though. She turned into a dragon."

"That sounds like my mother."

"Can you turn into a dragon?"

"I could say. I will not."

"You do act quite a bit like her. Could you teach me how to shapeshift?"

"And what would I get in return?" Morrigan's voice dripped with scorn. Bethany looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Some new clothes? You must be tired of those rags."

"Begone child."

Nearby, at one end of the buffet table, two rogues were talking very quietly and glancing over towards the mages.

"You were right Zevran, it is... magical." Isabela said breathlessly.

"I told you."

"I mean, when she was looking over that slice on my ribs, it was right there and I just wanted to lay my head..."

"I know. I have often wished to do the same."

"And she never let you?"

"No, she is an evil temptress. I cry myself to sleep at night."

"That's so sad." She patted the forlorn elf on the shoulder. "If you want, you can always lay your head on my bosom."

"It is lovely, but," Zevran sighed, "it is not the same."

"No, it really isn't." Isabela looked back over where the healers were standing speculatively. "Do you think if I told her I was a naughty girl, she'd give me a spanking?" Zevran laughed.

"Hah! Minx, I would pay good money to see that. But I've tried it before, and it hasn't worked."

"You told her you were a naughty girl? I can see how that ploy might fail."

"True. But let's go. I want to see this magnificent chest hair I've heard so much about."

"You won't be disappointed. Although I warn you, it's crossbow is the jealous type."

Barkspawn and Ser Fluffy were chasing each other around the room, with Barkspawn leading. They knocked over several chairs and a few of the guests. The hounds didn't seem to notice, barking happily back and forth at each other.

"Mew?" The mabari hounds stopped short as a little orange cat crossed their paths. Barkspawn put his head down and snuffled at the tiny creature, while the cat sniffed back. Sir Fluffy growled at the thing, and when it didn't respond he whined quizzically. Barkspawn reached back and picked up the cat in his mouth. With the other mabari in tow, he walked towards the mage with the feathered robes and deposited the cat on the cot beside him.

"Meow." Anders looked down and saw the little cat, and a big grin spread across his face.

"Ser Pounce-a-lot! Where did you come from?" The two hounds barked happily. Anders scooped the cat up, and scratched under it's chin.

"Thank you kind fellows. I'm sorry if I ever said anything mean about dogs. Ser Pounce-a-lot, say thank you."

"Mew?"

Shale stepped into the room.

"It says we are to begin again." The guests, plus a very small kitten, filtered back into the ballroom for the next round.


	8. Round 5: Two-Handed Weapon Warriors

Somehow in the short break most of the ice, plant life and charred remains of fire had been cleared from the area. The mages all looked exhausted, except for Wynne who was serene as ever. The audience was settled up on the balcony while one human, one elf, one dwarf, and one qunari prowled the floor below.

"Welcome back to the ballroom, now that it's cleared of debris. Hey Mahariel, I thought you said it was spell-proof."

"Apparently not well enough. Spells won't destroy the place, but clearly a big gigantic magical mess doesn't trigger the protections."

"Clearly."

"Right. So here we are at Round Five: I Think These Warriors are Compensating for Something. We have Carver Hawke with a massive sword, Fenris the elf with a humongous hammer, Oghren the dwarf with an enormous axe, and Sten the qunari with a really, really large sword."

"So, ladies and gentlemen..." Hawke was interrupted by a loud squawk. A bird flew into the ballroom, startling the men preparing the fight. Sten ducked to avoid getting conked in the head by the frightened creature.

"How did that bird get in here? Can somebody shut the doors please?" Hawke commanded. Carver sprinted as fast as he could in his plate mail to shut the ballroom doors. Unfortunately this had the effect of trapping the bird in the room with them. It flew across the room to the base of the stairs where the golem stood, waiting to give the signal to start the fight.

Shale roared, startling the bird so badly that it gave another squawk and dropped, too scared to flap its wings. From higher up on the stairs, an orange blur launched itself out of Ander's coat, aiming straight for the feathered creature. Shale reached up and grabbed the bird in one hand, crushing it to death.

"The evil fiend has been vanquished." growled the golem solemly.

"Meow." The sound came from very close to Shale's ear. She turned her head to see a small cat standing on her shoulder, looking at the golem curiously.

"Mew?" Shale lifted her clutched fist to the kitten and opened it up to show the remains of the bird. The creature sniffed at the dead thing, and then swatted it off of the stone hand onto the floor. Shale squished the remains of it underneath her foot. The cat circled a few times on Shale's shoulder before settling down and curling itself the crook of the golem's neck. Shale reached up and scratched the cat with one giant finger. It purred contentedly, and Anders looked a bit dejected.

"Now that the epic battle of Shale and Ser Pounce-a-lot versus the evil pigeon is over, let's get back to business. Shale, on your mark!" Shale carefully raised one arm so as not to disturb the sleeping Ser Pounce-a-lot. As her hand came down, four large and dangerous looking weapons went up.

Swords and battleaxe locked together in a tangle. Each man wore a mask of grim determination as they pushed and strained for an advantage. Fenris's hammer came down on top of them. His opponents were jerked downwards as the maul pinned their weapons to the ground, trapping them for a brief moment. He braced himself and then lifted his hammer to try to make another blow. Unfortunately, the qunari was faster. The instant the white-haired elf let up, Sten's sword swept the other contestants. Oghren ducked, and Carver managed to jump back to avoid getting hit, but Fenris – preparing his own strike – was caught by the large sword in the shoulder. As Sten continued his arc, a shiny piece of metal went flying towards the stairs and the elf found he was missing one of his shoulder spikes. One of the mabari hounds leapt up and caught it.

Fenris shook off the sting of the blow, and readjusted his grip on the maul. He held it high and slammed it down at the qunari's head. Thinking quickly, Sten held his sword by hilt and blade edge and raised it up to meet the oncoming weight. He caught the maul under the head and thrust it away from himself; back towards it's wielder. From the center of the room, the dark-haired young lad jumped over the back of the dwarf and charged towards the qunari and the elf. He slashed out with his sword, but Fenris parried his blow with just a flick of his hammer.

"Hah!" laughed Mahariel.

"What?"

"I just thought of something!"

"I thought I had all the random observations. What's yours?"

"Your brother... his name's Carver. He wields a sword, correct? He... carves things... with his sword... It's perfect!" The elf was giggling uncontrollably.

"That's really lame."

"You only think it's lame because he's your brother." She was almost falling out of her chair, her laughter punctuated now and again by an undignified snort.

It was a confusing mess on the battlefield as all four warriors fought for supremacy. There was no clear rhyme or reason; Oghren blocked a blow from Fenris only to strike against Sten. There was a ding in Sten's armor from Oghren, but the qunari was currently locking swords with Carver. Carver swung his sword down to parry Sten and then advanced, forcing him away from the other two and splitting the battlefield.

"Oh Carver..." murmured Bethany.

"Hmm?" Anders said distractedly, his eyes fixed on the cat on Shale's shoulder.

"Why does he insist on tackling the biggest thing in the room? Stupid."

"Well considering his other options are an elf that can punch your heart out with his fist, and a dwarf that can probably kill with his breath alone, I think the qunari is a smart choice."

Now that there were two distinct pairs fighting, it was easier to figure out what was happening on the ballroom floor. Oghren and Fenris held their weapons like staves; with a hand on each end of the handle to give them more leverage. The elf's whole body twisted as he swung his maul, aiming for the dwarf's kidneys. Oghren thrust out his axe and managed to deflect most of the blow, but the top of weapon grazed him and left a dent in his armor. Oghren returned with an overhead strike. The elf grounded his mallet and cartwheeled himself over it to avoid the axe; surprisingly lightfooted for a warrior in so much armor. The dwarf was dumbfounded for a second before his face turned as red as his beard and he rushed the elf in a berserker charge. Fenris just barely managed to put up any sort of a defense; axe and maul met with a loud crash. They struggled against each other, managing to turn themselves in a small circle until Oghren's back was against one of the pillars.

The elf's white tattoos started to glow; still pressing the dwarf, he managed to shift his weapon to one hand and pulled the other one back in a fist. Oghren's eyes grew big, blinded by the light of the lyrium tattoos. He stopped forcing against the maul and slipped off to the side. Fenris's fist came forward, but instead of connecting with the dwarf's head, it smashed into the pillar. He managed to bury his arm up to his elbow, and crack started to form all along the column.

"I take it your ballroom wasn't Fenris-proofed."

"I'm planning on having a few words with Voldrik after this."

"Umm... maybe we should move people away from that side." Fenris had punched the pillar directly under the part of the balcony holding most of Vigil's Keep residents.

"Oh the balcony will hold, the pillar isn't structurally important." Mahariel said. The cracks on the pillar got larger and it was starting to make some interesting groaning noises. "But to be on the safe side... Sigrun, Velanna, Nathaniel; I'd move if I were you." All three looked over the edge, and then at each other. They hightailed it down the stairs and crossed over to the side were most of the Kirkwallians were sitting. Velanna and Nathaniel stood in the open spot between the Chantry brother and Aveline, while Sigrun took the empty seat next to the beardless dwarf.

"I don't think we were properly introduced, dear lady. My name is Varric, and this..." here Varric indicated behind himself, "... is Bianca."

"Bianca? I thought her name was Merrill?" Sigrun said, with a confused look on her face. Varric turned around and saw the dark-haired elf sitting behind him, waving cheerily. He laughed.

"No! THIS is Bianca." He unholstered his crossbow from his back and held it out for her inspection, though not close enough for her to actually touch it.

"Ooohkay... I'm Sigrun. Nice to meet you Varric. And Bianca." She said as an afterthought. She returned her attention to the fight with a slightly perturbed look on her face. Varric shook his head and patted Bianca before returning her to his back.

Fenris had pulled his arm out of the pillar and the glow of his tattoos dimmed down to nothing. Pieces of the column now littered the floor and Fenris and Oghren fought around them, Fenris being careful to avoid stepping on them. On the other side of the room Carver was buoyed by his so-far successful onslaught of Sten. His swings came quickly, or at least as quickly as a two-handed sword could manage. For his part, the qunari seemed perfectly calm. The dark haired boy went in for a new strike. Instead of merely parrying, as he had been doing up until now, the qunari met the sword with the flat of his blade and shoved. Carver went stumbling back. Sten dropped into a crouch, with his hands on the ground. He pushed off, straining every muscle in his large form and charged at the unbalanced boy. Bethany's hands flew to her eyes and the other Hawke sister gripped the arm of her chair until her knuckles turned white. Aveline was also suddenly all attention, and her face went pale.

Carver held out his hands in an ineffective attempt to stop the qunari charge. Sten tackled the boy, lifting him partway off of the ground and driving him into the wall. The qunari recoiled back, letting Carver slump to the ground, the wind completely knocked out of him. Sten swung his sword in a large arc and pointed at his opponent. Carver didn't look at the qunari, just held his hands up and shook uncontrollably. Bethany sprinted to the side of her twin and lowered his arms so she could look him full in the face. She crouched down and pulled his arm across her shoulders with one hand and used the other to hold him by the waist to help him up to his feet, Together, the Hawke twins made their way out of the ballroom, Bethany throwing a glare at Sten as she left. A brief look of chagrin flashed across his face, quickly replaced by his usual stoic mask. Up on the balcony, Hawke was frozen, hands still digging into her chair.

"Hawke, you okay?" Mahariel asked. When the human woman didn't respond, the elf poked her in the shoulder.

"Huh?" Hawke startled and blinked rapidly.

"I said, are you okay?"

"Carver... charge... ogre..." she said, still unfocused. She shook her head and blinked a few more times.

"Sten isn't an ogre. He doesn't even have horns. What are you talking about?"

"It's just... charging on Carver... it brings back bad memories..."

"Of the time your brother died at the hands of an ogre?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"But didn't he..."

"Mahariel?"

"What?"

"Shut up." Hawke scowled and kept her eyes resolutely forward. Mahariel pouted.

Sword, hammer, and axe clanged against each other below. The height difference was causing some problems for Sten. He had to swing much lower than usually in trying to get Oghren, and Fenris, while tall for an elf, was still short enough that trying to aim low enough for non-lethal blows was a challenge for the big guy. Fenris brought down his hammer, aiming for Oghren's head, but missed, hitting him in the foot instead. Oghren roared in pain but managed to keep standing. He whirled around with all his weight on his good foot, his battleaxe at knee level; it clanged against, but didn't harm, Sten's plates and sheared off another few of Fenris' spikes.

"You are not seriously composing a ballad, are you?" Morrigan queried the red-headed bard who was writing furiously in a journal.

"Of course. An occasion like this demands a song. Besides, if I don't tell the story, that Varric will, and he'll get half the details wrong."

"As will you."

"Yes, but I do it for artistic reasons. He'll just do it to make it more exciting."

"I fail to see the difference."

Sten was on the defensive against Fenris. Oghren was off to the side, easing the pain of his foot by partaking from the hip flask attached to his belt. Fenris wore a look of grim determination; the qunari was almost smiling. He switched his sword to his off hand, leaving him wide open. Fenris hesitated a moment but decided to take advantage of the opportunity. He swung his hammer in a wide arc. Moving quicker than anyone in the room though possible, Sten grabbed the maul just under the head mid-swing. He twisted the maul down and behind Fenris until the elf lost his grip. Sten twirled both giant weapons as if they weighed nothing. Fenris' tattoos flared up again, but Sten, using the same move the elf used earlier, brought the maul down onto his feet. His bare feet. All of the color, all of the glow went out of Fenris' face. He took one step and cried out in pain before pitching forward, only just catching himself with his hands. He looked up at the qunari, and nodded once, swallowing painfully. Wynne rushed down the stairs, already casting some sort of healing spell. Shale took the cat off of her shoulder and handed it to Anders before heading down after Wynne. The golem picked the elf up in her arms and the mage, the warrior and Shale went out of the ballroom.

Sten kept his head bowed in respect until they left. He walked over to where the mabari were standing, and placed Fenris' weapon in front of them, It took both hound to lift the huge weapon but they managed and went off in the direction of the injured elf. Upstairs, one of the hosts looked a bit sick.

"And that's why boots are an important part of any sane person's armor kit."

"Oww... that looked... really unpleasant." Mahariel was an odd shade of green.

"No kidding. Like I said. Shoes. They're awesome. Look at the dwarf. He got hit in the foot, and he's totally fine."

"He's three sheets to the wind."

"I noticed that actually. How's he still standing? Most people I know would be dead after the amount of alcohol I've seen him consume today."

"I have no idea. All I know is that it's never affected him in battle, except that he becomes even more of berserker. His breath also becomes a weapon on it's own."

"Charming." The dwarf's breath didn't seem to affect Sten, either because he was used to it or it simply didn't reach a nose several feet above the short man's mouth. Whatever the reason, with the elf and the human out, it left a completely mismatched pair to battle it out for supremacy. The dwarf was favoring one foot slightly, but he mostly just looked really, really mad. He whirled his axe over his head and swung it into Sten's chest. The sharp ax sliced through the plate metal like butter but the dwarf lacked the reach to do damage to qunari skin underneath. Sten retaliated with an uppercut from his sword that knocked Oghren's helm clean off his head. Oghren ignored the lack, and went for a low sweep that caught Sten behind the knee and set him off balance. He flipped his axe around and butted the qunari with the handle. Already unsteady, the tap from the handle caused the big man to go down, landing on his butt with a thud. He quickly maneuvered himself into a kneeling position, which put him at about the same height as the dwarf. Oghren merely laughed, and took another drink from his flask.

Sten brought the flat of his sword down on Oghren's hands, making him drop the flask. Oghren was getting back into a battle stance when the qunari brought his sword pommel into direct contact with Oghren's nose. Oghren let go of his axe to put a hand to his bleeding nose. Sten used the opening to whack the dwarf's head with the flat of his blade. Oghren sank like a stone, and down for the count.

"Didn't realize the qunari would be so skilled on their knees." Isabela whispered to the assassin next to her.

"Neither did I. Certainly he's never demonstrated such... talent before." mused Zevran.

Anders made his way down the stairs towards the unconscious dwarf. Sten strode to the center of the ballroom and faced Hawke and the Warden. He went down on one knee and bowed his head over his sword.

"Congratulations Sten! You move on to the next round." The qunari nodded and got to his feet again.

"Speaking of rounds, Mahariel, you realize there's only one more left before the finale?"

"I know! I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. This whole thing is exhausting."

"I think our companions are probably more exhausted. After all, they're the ones fighting."

"Yes but we're doing all the talking. And talking's hard."

"Well then maybe you should rest your voice before the next round, Hawke. Ladies and Gentlemen, onto Round Six!"


	9. Round 6: The Archers

After five rounds of fighting the ballroom was definitely looking the worse for wear. Scorch marks covered the walls and floor, one pillar was reduced to a crumbled mess and the rest were covered in dings and scratches from various weaponry digging into them. In one corner there was a puddle of melting ice with a broken vine in the middle of it and a suspiciously slick spot over by the door.

There were four people on the floor now; the redheaded bard in Chantry robes, the beardless dwarf with the massive crossbow, a dark, scowling man in black leathers and bearing the arms of Vigil's Keep, and his opposite; a man in blinding white armor and the face of Andraste for a belt buckle. They each stood in a corner; just slightly in front of the balcony line, but otherwise as far away from each other as possible. The three humans carried bows; they had nocked arrows, but held them downward, undrawn. The dwarf was busy fitting bolts on his crossbow; he was just now putting in a fourth and there looked to be room for one more.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've made it to the last round of the semi-finals."

"Hooray!"

"You said it, Hawke. We're on Round Six: How to Make a Human Pincushion. This round we have Sebastian, Chantry brother and exiled prince of Starkhaven, Leliana, Chantry sister and Orlesian bard, Varric, supposedly a merchant but really a teller of bullshit stories, and Nathaniel Howe, Grey Warden and son of a rat bastard." Mahariel gave a flirty wave when the dark man scowled at her. "Love you Nate!"

"Love? Really?"

"No, of course not. Velanna would fry me."

"I see. Well, are we ready to start?"

"Oh I definitely think so."

"Shale on your mark!" Shale raised her arm and archers' weapons went up with it. Shale's arm came down and three arrows and five crossbow bolts went flying through the air. Three arrows and five bolts landed with a thud in and around Sebastian, pinning him to the wall. There was an arrow in each leg, a bolt in each arm, two bolts in his torso and one bolt twisted in the string of his now-broken bow. The third arrow was embedded in the face of Andraste – right above his crotch.

"Wait, that doesn't make any sense. Bianca can shoot five bolts at once, and I know Nathaniel and Leliana got off an arrow apiece, Sebastian wouldn't shoot himself, so where did the third arrow come from?"

"I have absolutely no idea." Hawke said cheerily as she casually lowered her bow and hid it behind her back. If Mahariel had bothered to look, she would have noticed that the fletching of the arrow at his crotch exactly matched the fletchings in Hawke's quiver. The elf however, was busy scanning the rest of the guests. The Starkhaven prince had gone white as a sheet and his eyes rolled back in his head. The only thing keeping him upright were the arrows trapping him. Wynne made her way over to the prince and examined him with a small frown on his face. She poked at the arrow at his belt.

"He'll be fine. Nothing vital, he's just nicked a bit." Shale came over and peeled Sebastian off the wall. With a sigh, the elder mage followed them out of the room. The three remaining archers slowly circled the ballroom, trying to keep as much distance between themselves and the other two. They side-stepped along the perimeter with bows half-drawn, not quite ready to shoot but prepared if they had to go on the defensive.

"Hey, Mahariel, did you notice both of our storytellers are in this round?"

"No. No I didn't." The elf said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I wonder who's taking notes for them?" Both hosts scanned the room. On the Kirkwall side of things, the little brunette elf was crouched over, writing in a large and heavily embossed leather journal. On the Fereldan side, it was the dark-haired older warrior taking careful notes in a dingy but well made book.

"Is that who I think that is?" Hawke said, aghast.

"Yep."

"Loghain is taking notes for Leliana?"

"Uh-huh."

"The general who took Fereldan back for King Maric is actually doing a favor for an Orlesian spy?"

"Looks like it."

"How'd she manage that?"

"She's a bard. That's what she does. She tells stories, talks people into doing what she wants and if that doesn't work she sends an arrow through them."

"Oh, so exactly like Varric."

"Only much prettier."

"Eh. Depends on your definition of pretty."

Both Leliana and the Howe boy had let off a couple more shots by now, most of which ended up either on the floor or stuck in a pillar. Shale had one sticking out of her arm. It wasn't that their aim was bad, more that their quarry moved faster than anticipated. Varric was being careful with his bolts; after the first volley he hadn't had time to load one bolt, let alone the five that Bianca was capable of, before a shot from one of the humans got him moving again.

Nathaniel let off another arrow, this one directed at Leliana. She ducked and rolled, and the arrow twanged as it hit the floor. Undaunted, the Vigil's Keep archer drew another arrow and shot it towards Varric, who neatly avoided it. Barely a moment after he released the second arrow, Nathaniel was already drawing another. The man was relentless; he shot arrow after arrow, first at Leliana, than at Varric, failing to hit either. With each dodge, the woman and the dwarf drew closer and closer together. Nathaniel pulled two more arrows from his sheath and aimed them at the two who were now only about a foot apart. The shafts sang across the ballroom and Leliana and Varric scrambled out of the way, right into each other.

They stood back to back and their eyes darted around, trying to keep tabs on Nathaniel and each other. Turning was a dangerous proposition; it gave them the ability to shoot at point blank, but it gave their opponent the same opportunity and opened them both up to an easy attack from Nathaniel, who was readying another two arrows on his bow. Leliana slowly drew on delicately fletched arrow out of her quiver. One thick dwarven finger curled closely around the crossbow's trigger. The tension was as tight as Nathaniel's bow.

There was a twang and a whoosh as the arrows flew. Varric ducked in the same instant, crouching protectively over Bianca. Leliana followed him down, doing a back flip over the dwarf and coming up to face him, bow drawn and ready. One arrow barely grazed by her foot as she went over but the other, intended for Varric's head, hit her leather armor square on the hip. She grimaced slightly, but seemed to be unimpeded. She loosed the arrow, less than three feet away from the dwarf. His arms flew up to protect himself and Bianca took the full impact. Varric examined the crossbow and pulled the arrow out, looking all the while as if he had been shot in the chest.

"Why does Varric look like somebody killed his puppy?"

"Mahariel, if there's one thing I've learned, its that the fastest way to end up dead is to do anything to Bianca."

"Sooo..."

"Your friend is screwed."

The redhead apparently realized she was in danger and went sprinting across the room to the stairs. As she ran, she pulled the arrow from her hip, ignoring the injury. She flew past Nathaniel, swiping at him with the bloodied arrow as she went by. A thin red line appeared on his cheek. He turned and followed her up the stairs. Meanwhile, Varric, his face changing from to pure steel, had pulled something very strange out of his pack and was fitting it to Bianca. It was an odd-shaped bundle of what looked like tightly packed bolts. The entire Kirkwall contingent moved and tried to hide under what cover they could find. Anders, Bethany and Merrill threw up various kinds of shields and crowded close to the non-mages.

"Mahariel!" Hawke whispered urgently from behind her chair.

"What?"

"Duck."

Varric hefted Bianca up to his shoulder and pointed her straight up in the air. He pulled the trigger and the kickback from the bow sent him tumbling backwards. The bundle of bolts flew upwards with massive velocity and split apart as it hit it's apex. Single bolts did a one-eighty and headed back downwards, picking up speed as they fell. Now the rest of the guests figured out what was going on and joined the Kirkwall party in trying to find someplace to hide from the incoming arrows. Oghren, for one, decided to use his axe as a protective umbrella.

Bolts rained down in ballroom. There was a surprising number of them, covering every square inch of the room multiple times over. The storm was so thick it became impossible to see what was going on. Arrows bounced and rebounded off of walls, floors, and Shale, who had returned to her post on the stairs by this point. As the bolts stopped falling, Mahariel and Hawke cautiously peeked over the railing to the floor below. The floor was a carpet of broken sticks and bolts embedded in the floor. All around the balcony, the guests were slowly picking themselves up and brushing off shrapnel.

"That was most excessive." said an annoyed Morrigan as she swept bolts off of her stool.

"Says the witch who turned the room into an ice cave." grumbled Loghain as he searched around for Leliana's dropped notebook.

"What was that?"

"I said nothing."

"I believe there is something sticking out of your back." She waved her hand peevishly at the bolt embedded in plate armor. The Teyrn reached behind and pulled out the shaft. He examined it, shrugged, and tossed it over the balcony.

As for the combatants, Varric stood in a small clear circle on the floor, untouched by any of the debris. He casually slotted another bolt and scanned the room for the other two. There was an Orlesian-styled bow and arrow peeking out from behind Shale, but other than one delicate female hand on the bow itself, the person was completely hidden. Nathaniel Howe laid sprawled out on the stairs, arrow dotting his left side. Blood seeped slowly from the wounds. Velanna raced down the stairs to him. Bethany joined her from the other side, picking her way slowly through the bolts. The downed archer stirred and groaned. From behind the golem, Leliana stepped forward, bow lowered, and watched as he used the stairs to raise himself up, arrows still sticking out of his side. He waved away the two mages and took a few steps down the stairs. When he stumbled, it was the elf-woman who picked him back up. Varric lowered his crossbow and allowed the two Wardens and Bethany exit the ballroom.

"Nice showing from Howe! I never thought I'd say that..."

"I certainly never pictured myself recruiting the son of someone I killed. Life is funny that way."

"You certainly know how to pick'em, elf."

"Same to you, shemlen."

Leliana jumped onto a post and ran up the railing, shooting at Varric as she moved. Varric loosed a bolt or two in her direction but Leliana was going to fast for him to get a clear shot at her. Leliana wasn't having any better luck, out of ten shots, only one hit the dwarf, grazing the top of his shoulder. Finally, the bard made her way around to where Mahariel and Hawke were sitting. She leapt up to the backs of their chairs, giving herself the highest vantage point in the ballroom.

"Leliana! What in the name of the Creators are you doing?" Mahariel turned and looked up at her, startled. Leliana only smiled and put a finger to her lips.

"We're doomed." Hawke sighed as she sunk down in her chair.

Leliana held her bow at her side, and opened her mouth. Mahariel stuck her fingers in her ears. An effortless, pure tone wafted across the ballroom and washed over the assembled companions. Many took on a vacant, dreamy look as the bard sang. Morrigan just looked annoyed.

"Oooh... pretty..." said Hawke distractedly.

"That's why they call her Sister Nightingale." Mahariel replied.

"Really? That's not what Isabela led me to believe..." Hawke was now looking adoringly at the Orlesian, completely lost in her song.

"Right, 'cause the pirate always tells the truth."

"She told me a story about you too."

"Well... I... she... we... Oh forget it."

A low bass hum came in underneath Leliana's melody. On the ballroom floor Varric was lightly petting the crossbow and crooning a wordless tune. The two songs intertwined in an interesting counterpuntal duet, and the audience was entirely mesmerized. Slowly, very slowly, and without stopping his hum, the dwarf lifted up his crossbow and aimed it directly at the redhead in the balcony. It was only as he pulled the trigger that Leliana realized Varric had resisted her. Her eyes widened and her mouth shut. The spell had been broken, and the captivated audience were blinking and shaking their heads, trying to clear the fog. The bard tried to jump down from her perch, but it was too late. The bolt hit her square in the stomach, and she dropped like a bird into the hosts' laps.

Mahariel reacted first, quickly grabbing the bolt as far down the shaft as she could and yanking it out. Leliana screamed and thrashed, but Hawke and Mahariel held on tightly. From across the room, Anders waved his staff and cast a healing spell in her direction. It was Sten who came around and lifted the girl into his arms, and carried her down the stairs. She moaned a little and curled against his chest. Varric stood in silent vigil below. Anders met the qunari at the bottom of the stairs and checked her pulse. He nodded up at Hawke and Mahariel. A sigh of relief went through the crowd and then a cheer as they exited the ballroom. Whether they were cheering for the bard's safety or the dwarf's win it was hard to say. The Kirkwall contingent went down and picked up Varric and held him aloft, being very careful not to touch Bianca. The rest of the guests joined the mob below.

"Wow, I didn't think they'd be so excited that Varric won."

"They're not entirely, Mahariel. Some of them just want their money." Indeed, gold seemed to be passing back and forth through the hands of the champion archer.

"Of course they do."

"Well, it looks like we have our six finalists."

"We do indeed Hawke. As well as another mess to clean it up."

"It's just sticks."

"You're right. We can just play fetch with Barkspawn and Ser Fluffy."

"They might enjoy that."

"So, to recap, our finalists for the last round are Varric, Sten, Morrigan, Sigrun, Aveline, and Wynne!"

"Should be an interesting match-up. I wonder who will take it all?"

"I don't know, Hawke. But let's take a short break. I think we need a drink."

"As long as it's not Oghren's brew."

"Nope, my own special reserve."

"I don't know if that's better or worse."


	10. Interlude: Passing the Flask

The reception room was relatively devoid of people, but the thick wave of tension in the room more than made up for it. Six of the party were still in the ballroom, preparing for the final round of combat. Over in the healer's corner, Bethany and Anders were busy trying to patch up the Orlesian. Leliana was conscious, but definitely looking worse for wear. The buffet table was strangely empty; instead, everyone was gathered around the bar, passing around mugs of ale and shot glasses of indeterminate liquor.

"So, what do you think our fearless leaders are up to?" Oghren said amiably, passing his flask over to the King of Ferelden.

"Having a tea party, of course. With dolls. And stuffed animals. They're probably braiding each other's hair." Alistair sighed dramatically. "I wish I could join them. I could use a manicure."

"Oh, come off it Alistair. You just want to see if Mahariel and Hawke are going at it." Isabela draped one arm over the warrior and stole the flask with the other. She took a quick swig and tossed it over to Nathaniel Howe.

"One; I think you're confusing me for Zevran. I am a perfect gentleman. Two; I very much doubt they are 'going at' anything." A speculative look came over Alistair's face. "Although... hot..."

"Yer got that right." Oghren said.

"Did I hear someone confusing Alistair for me? I believe that is an insult." Zevran turned around with a small glass of clear liquid in his hand. He sipped slowly and pouted at the others.

"No, Isabela is just calling me a pervert."

"I said no such thing." She looked offended. "Did I say the word pervert?"

"Of course she didn't. That would be the bandit calling the pickpocket thief." Nathaniel replied.

"Wait, does that mean you think I'm perverted?" asked Zevran.

"I don't think it Zevran, I know it." Alistair got out from under Isabela's arm to pour a mug of ale from one of the kegs. "You and Isabela both." The Antivan and the Rivani exchanged devilish grins.

"So what do you think they're doing in Mahariel's office?" Merrill asked, having not really followed most of the previous conversation.

"Same thing we are. Our Warden-Commander has a private stash to rival Oghren's up there." Velanna said casually. Nathaniel handed the flask to her. She looked at it, shrugged and took a sip before handing it back to the dwarf.

"Well, she sure knows how to throw a party. Food, drink, and fighting. Feels like home." Oghren sighed contentedly.

"I for one could have done without the fighting." Loghain came up behind them and scowled. Alistair inched slowly away from his father-in-law.

"Ah, come on Loghain, don't tell me you weren't looking for a chance to beat the shit out of your son-in-law. I thought that was the dream of every father." Oghren nudged the Teryn in the ribs. The older man's scowl deepened.

"No."

"Oh right... I forgot. It was him that knocked you down. Oops." He drained his flask and picked up a bottle of dark liquid to refill it.

"So Nathaniel, I see you're feeling better." Alistair turned his back on Loghain to speak to the young Howe.

"Yeah. I got patched up real good. Still hurts if I laugh though."

"Good thing you don't do that often." Velanna cut in. Nathaniel looked aback at her, but her face betrayed nothing.

"Anyone know how Leliana's doing?" Zevran asked the group. Nathaniel glanced back at the cots.

"I was just over there. Anders and Bethany have it under control; she'll be fine. That was a nasty shot though." There were nods all around.

"Well good thing none of us have to fight anymore." Zevran said.

"Not that you did much fighting." They were surprised by the soft Orlesian accent, and turned around to face a limping, smiling Leliana. Anders and Bethany stood behind her, worn but satisfied with their work.

"Oh good, we thought you were going to have to miss the final round." Isabela said cheerfully.

"Not a chance." The conversation stopped as they all heard the sounds of some drinking song, sung very badly. A door on the second level slammed open and the Champion and the Warden walked out of a room, leaning on each other for support.

"Come on everyone! Let's see the last fight!" Mahariel crowed drunkenly. Hawke punched a fist in the air. The remaining revelers rolled their eyes, filled up their glasses, and headed back into the ballroom for the final round of combat.


	11. The Final Battle

Mahariel and Hawke climbed unsteadily up the stairs and around to their seats, with the rest of the party following slowly behind. Six figures arranged themselves into different spots on the floor and were warming up for the ensuing battle. Sten swung his arms in wide circles, his sword switching hands with every rotation, and everyone else steered clear of him. Sigrun jumped up and down in place while nearby Varric was busy oiling Bianca. Both Wynne and Morrigan were sitting in quiet meditation, though Wynne moved her lips in a silent prayer to the Maker. Aveline ran through various sword stances, methodically fighting an invisible enemy. They all kept one eye on the two intoxicated rogues.

"Mahariel, why in Andraste's name is there only one set of stairs in this ballroom?" Hawke asked. She felt like she had been walking for years, and they still had a quarter of the way to go to their seats.

"Because it looks better, and there's more room for dancing. And fighting apparently."

"It's a bloody long way to walk."

"Tough." Mahariel wasn't feeling especially happy about the walk either, but she wasn't about to show it in front of the Champion of Kirkwall. They finally made it around to their chairs and Hawke collapsed down with a contented sigh. Mahariel sat down more gingerly, not quite trusting her depth perception at the moment.

"Maker's breath, Mahariel, what was in that drink you made me?"

"That's for me to know, and you never to find out."

"You're depraved, elf."

"I'm aware. Shall we start up this round?"

"Please."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have come to the climax of this most epic struggle. The road here was long and hard, and..."

"That's what she said!" Isabela shouted from across the room.

"Real mature, Rivaini!" Hawke shouted back. "Mahariel, please continue."

"...and messy. But we are here. Finally. The GRANDE FINALE ROUNDE!"

"Again?" Hawke whined.

"Yes. And if I may continue without being interrupted..."

"Go right ahead."

"Good. We have culled you down to the best of the best, and now it's time to find out who's the best of the best of the best." Mahariel shot a glance at Hawke, who pursed her lips firmly and tried to look innocent. "Representing the healers we have Wynne; a Fereldan Circle Mage with a deathly secret."

"That's not really a secret." Hawke added. "For our sword-and-boarders, we have Aveline; the captain of the Kirkwall guards."

"Our double-axes wielding rogue is Sigrun; Formerly casteless, this dwarf has worked her way up to becoming both Legion of the Dead and a Grey Warden."

"The next mage is Morrigan; daughter of Flemeth, shapeshifter, Witch of the Wilds."

"And joining the warriors is Sten; bearer of Asala and member of the Baresaad"

"And rounding out the competition is Varric and his completely tricked-out crossbow known only as Bianca."

"Are we ready Hawke?"

"Shale, on your mark!" For the last time the huge golem raised a stony hand, all eyes turned resolutely towards it. She brought her hand down decisively, and chaos erupted in the ballroom. Morrigan transformed; growing large, furry, and humpbacked. Sigrun winked out of sight, and a hail of arrows filled the ballroom. The corner Wynne was standing on took on an odd shimmer as shields slammed up around her, arrows bouncing harmlessly off of them. Aveline raced towards the bear formerly known as Morrigan, while Sten charged at Varric, swatting arrows with his sword as he went. Varric took one look at the large figure and sprinted as fast as his dwarf legs could carry him. Morrigan battered at Aveline's shield with her massive paws, ignoring the small cuts the guardswoman's sword inflicted on her. Wynne stood silent behind her shields, and there was still no sign of Sigrun.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Mahariel asked, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth between the contestants.

"Nope, watching them is giving me a headache." Hawke was slumped deep in her chair, massaging her temples. "Just let me know when it's over."

"But I can't do commentary by myself!"

"Mahariel, no one is listening to us anyway."

The Morrigan-bear roared in pain, and leaped over a crouched Aveline. She ran towards the base of the stairs and skidded to a stop. Away from the melee, she looked back over her shoulder; there was a small ax embedded in her rump. Morrigan sat down, and used one surprisingly dexterous paw to remove the ax. With a snort, she tossed it up the stairs towards Barkspawn, who caught it in his mouth, and turned large golden bear eyes towards the shadows. Sigrun stood exposed in the light with only a single hand ax. Aveline spotted the dwarf and brought her sword down on top of her – a move that Sigrun only just managed to avoid by somersaulting off to the side. Aveline chopped downward again, and Sigrun brought her ax up to defend herself.

Morrigan, satisfied that her attacker was being dealt with, surveyed the room. Sten was still chasing Varric around the pillars, but over in the corner Wynne was alone, setting up magical traps. Morrigan seemed to explode as she transformed from a bear to a swarm of insects. The buzzing cloud traveled lazily over to the mage, easily bypassing her shields. Wynne noticed nothing until Morrigan started to sting her. The older mage waved her arms frantically, swatting away the insects, dropping her shields in the process. A wave of magic that was more felt than seen swept across the ballroom, but only swarm-Morrigan seemed to be affected; the insects fell to the ground and slowly coalesced back into human form.

Sigrun was doing her best to defend herself with a single ax, but the tall woman she was battling had a much longer weapon with a much longer reach, and much heavier armor than the dwarf. She reached behind her and pulled out an odd glowing flask. She threw it at Aveline's armor and it was as if the woman was hit by lightning. She positively crackled as electricity crawled over her and her flame-red hair stood on end. Sigrun used the distraction to scurry over to where Morrigan threw her second ax. It didn't take long for Aveline to recover, and though she was still buzzing slightly, she chased after the rogue.

"Ahh, that takes me back." Hawke sighed happily. One eye was open, watching the proceedings below.

"What does? And I thought you were sleeping."

"Varric and Sten. That's how I defeated the Arishok, you know, by getting him to chase me around the room until he couldn't move."

"Sounds like the Arishok was pretty stupid."

"It's working on Sten, isn't it?"

Sten was indeed starting to get tired of following Varric around the pillars. Varric never even stopped to shoot a bolt off. Sten cut one of the corners, intending to head off the dwarf, when Aveline barreled into him. A grim smile spread across his face as he swung his sword at the guard. She parried it expertly, and engaged the qunari, the dwarfs all but forgotten. Varric kept running but didn't see the dwarf woman kneeling to pick up an ax. He tripped over her, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Sigrun popped up almost immediately. She threw a glance over to the warriors, and then turned back to the other dwarf. She stood over him and raised her axes. Varric turned to look at her, still on his back. Slowly he pointed his crossbow at her.

"Well Hawke, it looks like it's mage against mage, rogue against rogue, and warrior against warrior."

"Hooray."

"Wait, what's Morrigan doing?"

The half-naked witch turned her back on the elder mage and scanned the upper floor. She stopped when she reached a corner of the Kirkwall side and waved her staff once. A dazed look crept over the faces of Carver and Sebastian, and they stared down at Morrigan. She crooked a finger at them, and they lumbering towards the stairs, pushing aside Anders and Bethany on their way. They managed to get down the stairs, still looking rather confused as they flanked the witch. She pointed her staff at Wynne, and the two men rushed the old woman, weapons drawn.

"I thought only blood magic users had the ability to control people like that." Hawke cocked her head to the side, watching her brother run at the healer.

"She's not controlling them – Morrigan just threw a disorient spell and let hormones do the rest."

"Oh Carver. My stupid, stupid brother."

"Yup."

"Is that allowed?"

"We have no rules against it." Mahariel shrugged.

"Of course we don't."

"We probably should have thought this whole tournament thing through a little better."

"Too late now."

The ground started to rumble under the interlopers feet. Wynne stood in the epicenter, calm and collected, arms outstretched. A large crack appeared on the floor, and Mahariel winced. Carver and Sebastian, barely able to stand as it was fell down when everything around them started to shake. Sebastian's head hit the floor with a large thud, knocking him out. The other two battles had stopped for the moment, unable to gain steady footing. When Wynne's earthquake died down, Carver stood up, and looked around.

"How did I get down here?" The warrior boy mumbled to himself. He didn't think too hard about it, because Wynne was still coming after him, staff held menacingly in front of her. He put up his sword. In the balcony, Anders glowed a bright blue.

"MORRIGAN! THAT WAS UNFAIR! I AM COMING FOR YOU!" Justice/Anders shouted. The possessed mage waved his staff, sending a force wave that threw Morrigan on her back.

"Uh-oh." Hawke groaned.

"Wait, why is Anders standing up for two people who hate him? Against a fellow mage?"

"I don't know... and that's not our only problem." Hawke pointed to the stairs. Varric had gone running up them the instant the shaking had stopped, with Sigrun in hot pursuit. They ran past the Nathaniel and Velanna, all they way towards where Loghain was sitting. Spectators braced themselves against the wall; Leliana went to the balcony railing when Varric passed by; a brush with Sigrun sent her tumbling over the edge. The bard twisted midair and landed on her feet. She pulled out her long bow, and sent a shot straight at Sigrun, who ducked the arrow without slowing down.

Aveline and Sten had resumed their combat; Aveline body-checked Sten with her shield while their swords were locked above them. Sten growled and shoved the guard straight to Leliana. The two redheads stood back to back, bow and sword lifted defensively. Sten charged at Aveline again; the force of the crash at Leliana's back made her let go of her bowstring, sending an arrow hurtling upwards straight towards Nathaniel. Standing next to him, Velanna let loose a fireball that disintegrated the arrow midair. The elf stood back and took a deep breath, and sent a tornado of fire racing across the top of everyone's head. The room started to smell of burnt hair and several of the pillars gained new scorch marks.

Varric ran right past where Hawke and Mahariel were sitting. He stopped at the corner and turned around, crossbow drawn. A single, powerful bolt went shooting across to Sigrun running towards him. The Champion and the Hero hit the floor.

"Varric! You ass!" Hawke complained. Sigrun dodged the arrow, which buried itself deep into the wall.

"Can we stop this?" Mahariel whispered. Hawke looked up at the field. Leliana and Aveline were fighting the qunari. Anders/Justice had gotten himself into a mage duel with Morrigan. Carver was trying to defend himself from Wynne. Bethany was running down the stairs to help her twin. Velanna apparently had it out for Leliana, lobbing fireballs at the bard from the balcony. Varric took off running again, and Sigrun jumped up and ran across Hawke and Mahariel's vacated chairs. Sebastian was still unconcious on the floor. As the Champion continued to scan the room, Zevran and Isabela exchanged wicked grins and leapt over the balcony to join the fray.

"Shale!" Hawke shouted. "Get rid of anyone who's not supposed to be here!" The golem slammed her fists down into the ground, sending another quake through the room. The stair she stood on crumbled underneath her. Oghren dropped the flask he had been holding. He roared and his face turned red.

"Shale; that was a single malt! No one messes with my whiskey!" He shouted, and pulled out his large ax. He ran towards Shale and began to hack at the stone golem. He chipped away at her while Shale punched him with a stony fist. Neither attack seemed to be doing much damage.

"I don't think that worked." Mahariel said. Hawke sighed.

Bethany reached her brother, and the mage and warrior began to work as a team against the older woman. Flashes of light flickered all over, and Carver wove in and out, trying to find a hole in Wynne's defense. He walked straight into one of Wynne's mage traps, and stopped, unable to move. Merrill saw the paralyzed Hawke brother, and frowned. She waved her staff to cancel out the spell. Carver looked up at his saviour.

"I didn't need any help!" He whined. Merrill looked hurt.

"Really? So sorry, to me it looked like you were trapped." She said sincerely. Fenris stalked over to her.

"The boy can do well enough without the use of your dirty magics, blood mage." He sneered at her.

"It's not dirty." She said, looking as if she was about to cry. "It's not!" Almost without thinking, Merrill let off a spell that ripped through Fenris like a knife. His white tattoos started to glow, and he advanced forward on the Dalish blood mage. Carver realized what he started and groaned. He looked over to where Bethany and Wynne seemed to be fully engaged, and made his way back up the stairs to break up the fight between the two elves.

Anders loomed over Morrigan, eyes fully blue. The golden-eyed witch was on her back, but still defiant. The room pratically crackled with energy of charging spells as the two glared at each other.

"Uh, excuse me?" A cough from behind Anders caused them both to break their stare. The King of Fereldan stood behind Anders, looking slightly embarrased. "I think you shouldn't destroy Mahariel's ballroom." All of the energy drained out of the two of them as Alistair cleansed the area of magic. Anders helped Morrigan stand, and they faced the templar. Ander's eyes glowed brighter, and Morrigan slowly started to transform into a spider. The blood drained out of Alistair's face. He slowly lifted sword and shield. Loghain spotted them from the second level. He swore under his breath, and sprinted down the stairs, determined to save his son-in-law from two very angry mages.

Zevran and Isabela seemed to be involved their own contest, albeit one very different from everyone else. The two popped in and out of sight, moving from battle to battle. Their knives flicked out quickly and quietly. No one noticed them, and no one noticed that their pockets were suddenly a lot lighter, or that their armor and robes aquired some very odd and strategic tears. Every so often the pirate and the assassin would meet in the middle to compare their spoils.

"ENOUGH! EVERYBODY STOP!" Hawke shouted, standing on the top of her chair. No one payed any attention to her. She slumped back down, and Mahariel patted her back.

"Nice try." The elf said soothingly. Hawke huffed.

"We've got to stop this."

"Well, we are the best fighters in the room, aren't we?"

"Of course, we're the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Hero of Fereldan."

"Then let's go stop them." Hawke took in Mahariel's words, and a slow grin spread across her face.

"Let's do it." Hawke stood up and pulled out her bow. Mahariel drew her twin swords, and the two of them took a running leap and dived over the balcony railing. Hawke made a beeline for her sister and Wynne, while Mahariel went to break up the qunari and the redheads. Hawke ran alongside her sister, and quickly shot off several rounds of arrows into Wynne's robes, pinning her unharmed to a pillar. Wynne looked angry and struggled furiously, trying to rip the arrows out. Mahariel cloaked herself in the shadows and came up behind Aveline. She hit the guardwoman over the back of the head with the pommel of her sword, sending the warrior tumbling forward. Mahariel returned to the shadows.

Hawke made her way to the center of the ballroom. She pulled out a bundle of arrows, almost half of her quiver and, replicating Varric's earlier move, sent them hurtling towards the ceiling. For the third time, arrows rained over the ballroom. The combatants were too focused on their enemy to notice they were turning into pincushions. Mahariel was the only one trying to duck the arrows – she backflipped towards the only clear spot in the room; right where Hawke was standing. Hawke, startled, turned around and sent another arrow whizzing over Mahariel's head.

"Hey! That was uncalled for!" Mahariel pouted. Her swords were crossed low in front of her, and she swept them towards Hawke, causing the human rogue to jump backwards. Hawke pulled something out of her pouch. The flask gleamed with a sickly green hue. Mahariel flicked it out of her hands, sending it flying towards Morrigan. It broke on Alistair's head, and he, Loghain, Anders, and Morrigan bent over heaving. Back in the center of the room, Mahariel whistled. As if out of nowhere, she was joined by Barkspawn, Ser Fluffy, and Ser Pounce-a-lot.

"Hey! Ser Fluffy's my mabari!" Hawke complained. She pulled an arrow out of her quiver, and attempted to stab the elf with it.

"Sic her." Mahariel said simply. Barkspawn leapt forward, Hawke kicked the dog, sending it sprawling. Ser Fluffy whined, unable to resist the ranger, but unwilling to attack his master. Mahariel sighed.

"Fine. You don't have to attack her." She glanced over Hawke's shoulder. "Hey look, Sebastian's starting to get up."

"Go get the Chantry boy, Ser Fluffy." Hawke said smiling. Ser Fluffly gave a happy bark, and jumped on top of the archer, pinning him back down to the ground.

"Mew?" Mahariel looked down at the small orange kitten.

"You are completely useless." She told the cat in no uncertain terms. The cat just licked its paws. The elf sighed. Hawke drew another arrow and aimed it Mahariel.

"Wait! We're supposed to be stopping this fight, not adding to it!" Mahariel waved her arms frantically. Hawke lowered her bow, and surveyed the room.

One side of the balcony was apparently covered in grease; Varric, Sigrun and Nathaniel were all having trouble moving. Where Velanna used to stand, there was now a small fire. Velanna herself was lighting Nathaniel's arrows on fire, and he was shooting them at Sigrun and Varric. Sigrun was trying to make her way to the two Grey Wardens, but kept slipping on her own trap, and Varric was busy firing bolts from Bianca. On the stairs, Shale and Oghren were trying to pummel each other into oblivion, but between Oghren's state of inebriation and the fact that Shale was made out of stone, they were getting nowhere. Anders and Morrigan had teamed up, trying to freeze and destroy Alistair and Loghain. Sten was still holding his own against Leliana, who kept dodging him at every opportunity. Aveline had recovered from Mahariel's blow and was at Sten's back, sword raised and ready to strike. Wynne had struggled free, and she and Bethany resumed their mage duel. Carver, Merrill, and Fenris were engaged in a three-way fight up in the balcony, Merrill covered in rock armor and trying to tangle Fenris and Carver up in viney mage growth. Barkspawn joined Ser Fluffy in sitting on Sebastian. As they watched, Isabela snuck up behind Morrigan and sliced through the top of her robe, leaving her back exposed, while Zevran stole Oghren's flask off of his belt.

"Mahariel, I think we've lost."

"You may be right. So what do we do now?"

"Let them fight? Eventually they'll stop. I hope."

"What about us?"

"I don't think we finished that bottle, did we? I think we should go take a look." Hawke nudged the elf's shoulder. A wide grin spread across Mahariel's face.

"That sounds like an excellent plan!" The elf chirped. Hawke draped an arm over Mahariel's shoulder, and the two rogues sauntered out of the ballroom; the music of chaos slowly fading behind them.


	12. Epilogue: Goodbye Ballroom

"It's empty." Mahariel frowned as she shook the bottle of whiskey. They could still hear the muffled sounds of battle coming from the ballroom.

"A moment of silence for another soldier down!" Hawke intoned in an outrageous Starkhaven accent. "Alright, that's long enough. Are we completely out?" The Champion asked curiously.

"Nope!" Mahariel reached into the cupboard and pulled out another full bottle. Hawke whooped and opened it up, refilling both her's and the Hero's glasses.

"You know what, elf?"

"What, shemlen?"

"I feel like we learned something today."

"Don't crash other people's parties?"

"No."

"Don't bring weapons to a social gathering?"

"No."

"Don't pit your friends against each other for your own amusement?"

"No."

"What then?"

"If you're going to stage a tournament, do it outside."

"You're so right, Hawke. I'm going to have to rebuild the ballroom entirely."

"Yeah, did you see those cracks in the floor?"

"Yes."

"Sucks to be you, Mahariel."

"Who do you think's going to win? I mean eventually?"

"Seriously? Probably Varric. He's taken a cut of all the betting."

"How'd you make out?"

"Lost twenty gold so far. You?"

"Won ten. I figure that's not bad."

"Not bad at all. Certainly was an interesting party. Sorry about trying to kill you earlier, by the way."

"Yeah, sorry I tried to turn your dog against you." The two sat in silence, listening to the screams and shouts and clanging below. Mahariel sipped her drink, Hawke downed hers and poured herself another glass. Suddenly all of the background noise stopped. Mahariel and Hawke felt the floor under their feet get very cold.

"What in Andraste's name caused that?"

"Oh, Morrigan probably froze everybody."

"Huh."

"Good thing too," Mahariel said, swirling her tumbler, "I'm almost out of ice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who stuck with it and read this whole thing. I hope you enjoyed it! This story is one of the first I've written, but I have a huge fondness for it and I'm forever tinkering and updating it, especially now that Inquisition is coming out. Let me know in the comments what you think. Is it good? Bad? Should I do a sequel that includes all of the Inquisition companions? 
> 
> At any rate, cheers!


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